


i'll eat you up (i love you so)

by frak-all (or_ryn)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bickering, Canon-Typical Behavior, Explicit hand-holding, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Jealousy, Love Bites, Mating Bites, Men who don't know how to understand or process their emotions, Minor Poe Dameron/Finn, Minor Rose Tico/Kaydel Ko Connix, Mistaken Identity, Monsters, Neighbors, Possessive Behavior, Rey Nobody From Nowhere, Sharing a Bed, Snowed In, Werewolves, again i reference the mistaken identity tag, also ben is an idiot, and possibly more tropes, enemies to lovers more or less, lies that are truths and truths that are lies, lying liars who lie, more tags to be added (i think), oh shit! like this one, sorry friends rey isn't a werewolf, thoughts of BLOOD and MURDER and VIOLENCE and RAGE
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:00:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26917006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/or_ryn/pseuds/frak-all
Summary: Ben chokes.He feels light-headed. Apoplectic.“Whatdid you just say?”Rey's smile is a pleasant, sunny thing. “Eat. My. Shorts,” she says. Then she tilts her head, ponytail swinging behind her, sweat dripping down her throat.Her throat.Her throat.In which Rey's asshole neighbor doesn't know he's also her fake boyfriend.And in which Rey doesn't know her asshole neighbor is also not entirely human.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 433
Kudos: 829





	1. wild things

**Author's Note:**

> goodness & gracious, here we go. 
> 
> welcome to the fake dating, snowed in, bedsharing monster trope fic! it was lovingly voted for by folks [in this twitter poll](https://twitter.com/AllFrak/status/1308223725205159936?s=20), then nurtured very enthusiastically by the incomparable [janedazey](https://twitter.com/janedazey). (thank you for your help and sharp eyes, jane!!) 
> 
> some of the tropes listed will be apparent from the get, others are gonna pop into play later. if i've missed any tags, please let me know. but, yeah. other than that, there's not much else to say. no disclaimers, no excuses. i'm just here to sin & have fun.

  
  


“That doesn’t belong to you.” 

Rey startled, stumbling on the asphalt and nearly falling headfirst into the discarded birch bookshelf she’d been inspecting for rot. She flung out a hand, bracing herself against its scratched wooden side. 

The bookshelf rocked. Her heart rate spiked. 

She should have anticipated this. 

Exhaling through her nose, she closed her eyes tight, willing calm. Demanding it. Then she stood, blinking her eyes open and throwing her shoulders back to reach her full height. 

Not that her full height would actually help much in this case. There was only one person out here who talked to her like that. 

There was only one other person out here, period. 

She turned. Squinted. 

And—yep. 

It was exactly as she thought: blue sky, Georgia sun, and six-plus feet of pasty white jackass. 

Ben—Han’s long-absent son come home too late, and her neighbor of approximately ninety-seven hours—stared back at her with the kind of wildly disproportionate intensity she’d come to expect from him. 

Hostility, in a word. Pure and unmitigated. Utterly unwarranted and without cause. 

He didn’t like her, apparently. 

And that was fine. She didn’t like him much either. 

“It doesn’t belong to anyone,” she said, adjusting her grip on the bookshelf. Sweat dripped down her brow, and she didn’t move to wipe it away. “Well, it _didn’t_ belong to anyone,” she corrected. “It does now. I’m keeping it.” 

Ben narrowed his eyes. “It’s _mine_ ,” he said, with the exact color and intonation of an overgrown toddler. 

“It _was_ , yes. But then you curbed it. Put it right next to the trash.” She lifted her chin. “Or are you trying to tell me you didn’t throw it away? That it somehow grew legs and walked all the way down to the road by itself?” 

A muscle ticked in Ben’s jaw. He crossed his arms over his chest, bunching up his black t-shirt. His long fingers dug into the corded muscle of each stupidly large bicep. 

“It was an accident,” he gritted out, leaning—no, _looming—_ forward with raw and transparent purpose. Throwing his weight around like he thought it might phase her. 

_Bully._

_Liar._

“It wasn’t.” 

“It’s broken,” he tried not a second later. 

Rey smiled, all saccharine and fuck-you sweet. Slowly, like he wasn’t just an asshole but also an idiot, she said, “I know. I’ll fix it.” 

Ben snarled. 

Actually _snarled._

The noise was soft, almost. More tangible than audible; a rumbling anger and flash of white teeth. 

It was so low and quick she almost could have missed it, mistaken it, except for the fact that she very much didn’t. 

“Get _ahold_ of yourself, dude,” she said, brows drawn and tone aghast. “Cool it with the testosterone-fueled intimidation act and just tell me why you don’t want me to have it.” 

Ben’s mouth shut, his lips a thin, vibrating line. He was gripping his biceps so tightly now that white-pressured divots formed in the muscle. 

“Because it _belongs_ to _me_ ,” he said, elaborating ever-so-fully, clearing everything up. 

Jesus Christ. The communication skills. 

What was _wrong_ with this man? 

Rey flung her arms wide. “Maybe you shouldn’t have thrown it away, then.” 

A pulsing wave of frustration kept her hands outstretched and shaking. She jerked them again, thinking, just a little, about wringing his neck. 

As she did, a gust of wind blew in from behind her, a sweet summer breeze, like the entire world was screaming at them to cool their hot heads. 

The trees rustled. The wind tickled her neck. Rey sucked in a level breath as the swirling breeze brushed Ben’s wavy black hair back, exposing _his_ pale, tensed neck to her even further. His stupid hair—kept down, like he still lived somewhere other than Georgia in late July—was long and smooth and seemingly impervious to the suffocating humidity everyone else had to put up with. 

Suffocating. 

Again, her hands shook. 

Clenched. 

The gesture grabbed Ben’s attention. His eyes moved from her face to her hands to her armpits. Instantly, his demeanor shifted. 

Rey only managed to catch a second of it—flaring nostrils, contorted face—but a second was more than enough. 

Obvious displeasure. Obvious _disgust_. 

At her armpit hair, no doubt. 

Fuck him extra, then. Fuck him a lot. 

Before she could tell him that, like she very much planned to, he pivoted where he stood, turning his back on her without so much as a word of goodbye. Long legs encased in those thick, impractical black jeans he seemed to favor propelled him across Han’s front yard, back towards the old picturesque farmhouse, as fast and focused as any tantrum. 

Leaving Rey alone and gaping, standing next to the woods and the road and his half-broken bookshelf. 

_Her_ bookshelf. 

She’d beaten him. She’d won. 

If only winning by forfeit felt like more of a victory. 

“Asshole!” she shouted at his tensed, retreating back. It was the only thing she could think coherently enough to say. 

Han’s front door slammed behind Ben, hinges rattling, the sound traveling across the open yard. 

It was all she got for a response. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


There was a lot Rey had to be thankful for. 

She had food on the table, some money in the bank, and a roof over her head that wasn’t going to cave in on her any time soon. She didn’t even have to pay rent. 

“Housesitting” for Maz was an ideal situation for her, honestly. She didn’t have to make a firm commitment or sign a lease, could stay in relative proximity to Finn and the rest of his Athens-based friends, and all she really had to do was make sure the house didn’t burn down. 

Han’s sudden passing had been a rug pulled out from under her—a phantom step at the top of a staircase Rey’d only just started climbing. They hadn’t known each other long—only three short weeks—and so of course she'd thought there’d been plenty more time left to go. But she was wrong, and Han was dead, and her raised foot had jerked down where a stair _should_ have been but wasn’t, their short-lived journey together over. 

_Maz_ and Han though? They’d been neighbors for decades and friends for far longer. 

His death had kicked a fire under her. It was a flame shared by her twenty-year-younger live-in boyfriend Chewie. 

They didn’t mean to see the world, they meant to _live_ in it. 

And, while they were doing that, they meant for Rey to _“mind the house_.” 

For a year. For _until_. 

And they meant for her to do it rent-free. 

It was the kind of thing that happened to other people. Financial opportunities like that. Temporary grace from the perpetual grind. 

Naturally, Rey had been skeptical. Suspicious. (Flat-out untrusting.) 

_“Take a breather, Rey, but don’t just take a break. Learn something if you can. Take a class. Go back to school.”_

Rey had never been in school, not beyond high school anyway, but she’d nodded right along, thinking of the freelance transcription work in her inbox. Of the three criminally lowballed Upwork gigs she had waiting for her there, too. 

_“And make yourself at home, dear. Paint the walls, buy new furniture, change things up. Get a dog if you want—or chickens for the coop.”_

_Sure_ , she’d remembered saying. _Yes, okay,_ and also _fine._

Right before she left, Maz had promised to send back postcards. _Postcards_. For Rey to do whatever she wanted with. To collect in a shoebox, perhaps put on the fridge. 

In response to that ridiculous prospect, Rey had smiled and laughed like Maz was telling one of her jokes, but it wasn’t until she received a crinkly 6x9” card from Casablanca and another two from Madrid that she really started to believe her luck. 

Maz was gone, but Rey wasn’t forgotten. 

And the house was hers. 

All _hers._ For a year. Maybe longer. 

It felt like she was being cut a break. Like, for once in her life, someone was looking out for her. Like things were finally and actually going her way. 

And then, the very moment she put her guard down, Ben Solo moved in. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


It isn’t possible to describe the scent of human people, Ben’s found. Not in a way that conveys any true depth of understanding or reproducibility. Body wash aside, people don’t smell like gardenias or sandalwood or orange-fucking-blossoms. 

People smell like sweat. Like anger. Annoyance. Sometimes fear. 

Some smell strong or sour or not-hardly-at-all, but that’s usually the extent of it. 

Rey smells like his temper has run out. 

Rey smells like his teeth at her throat. 

Around her, he is perpetually seconds from his first in-the-flesh murder. 

It’s an ultimate and extreme test of his control. He has never, not once in his thirty-one-years alive, been known for his control. 

Now is certainly no different. 

“Do you have permission to do that?” he asks, hovering over her, just far enough away. 

The closest thing to a ripped throat he’s ever met is bent over nine wilted tomato plants. Her short jean overalls are baggy, skimming mid-thigh, and her knees are covered in freshly turned soil. Her hands are absolutely filthy with it, too. 

She wipes her brow, smearing clumps of dirt across her forehead. Some of it falls, covering the bridge of her lightly freckled nose. 

Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. 

His luck. Her presence. The fact that the dirt does nothing to mask her scent. 

Neither does the sunscreen slathered over her face, her chest, her slender little neck. 

She’s religious about applying the thick, chemically-based lotion. Is always covered in it, protecting herself from the sun, every time he’s given into his obsessive other self and come outside to be around her—like a starving man sitting down at a restaurant only to poke at his meal. 

Sooner or later, he’s going to take a bite. 

And after all this time, it isn't going to be a small one.

Not that she seems to have the _slightest_ gut feeling about it. No hint or sign of that human hindbrain self-preservation, nothing niggling or spine-crawling telling her to run. 

She has no idea how close she is to dying. 

If she did, there’s no way she’d scrunch up her nose and ask, in the snottiest tone he’s ever heard, “Permission from _who_? The _HOA_?” 

Ben’s nostrils flare. He nearly sucks in a deep breath at the _mouth_ on her. At her sheer and absolute gall. 

Nearly. 

Thankfully, though, he doesn’t. 

Shallow breathing is the trick, he’s found. The longer he stays around her, the more intensely her scent expands, spreading and multiplying and sprouting greedy little hooks. If it manages to get into his lungs, to settle there, unpack its merry suitcase, and make itself at home, he’s done. 

_She’s_ done. 

His head, his blood, his hard-won sanity— 

He’s never felt this kind of reaction to another person, so instantaneous and colored in red. 

“Who do you _think_ you’d need to get permission from?” he bites out. “How about the person who owns this house for starters?” 

Rey tosses her head. Her nose is still smudged with dirt, and the sight of it makes his blood boil. 

He’s angry. Furious. 

“What makes you think _I_ don’t own this house?” she asks, tone even snottier, somehow, than before. 

He’s never felt this close to killing anyone. 

Not even people who have objectively deserved it. 

Face carefully impassive, Ben takes a half-breath through his mouth before saying, “Property records.” 

Rey’s jaw drops. 

“Ex _cuse_ me.” She gapes at him for a full three seconds, beyond coherent speech. “You—you _looked me up?_ ” 

“I looked this house up,” he corrects, shoving his hands in his pockets. They curl and tighten, far too close to claws. “And funnily enough you don’t own it.” 

Color rises high on Rey’s cheeks. “That is the _farthest_ thing from your business.” 

“It is if I’m living here.” 

“No,” Rey says, rising to her feet. “ _No_.” She steps closer to him. Closer to him. As close as she’s ever been. 

His eyes fall to her neck. 

His mind fogs. 

Rational thought dissolves. 

Bloodlust sparks in the shock of a second. So sharp and familiar and painfully profound it’s almost unrecognizable. This feeling. This _frenzy_. But the image of his teeth at her neck is clear enough. 

He leans forward, mouth watering, heart pumping, fevered and bloody and _loud_ —right as a dirt-covered finger swipes its way through the air, cutting less than _a foot_ from his _face_. 

Ben freezes. Stops breathing entirely. 

Rey very much does not. 

“You don’t live here,” she says, fully pissed off and picking up speed. “You live _there!_ ” She jabs over his shoulder, moving her finger like it’s a knife. “Across the street! There’s a big ol’ dotted yellow line you can reference in case you get lost.” 

Ben bites his tongue, not breathing, not breathing. 

He eyes her wagging finger. Imagines catching it between his teeth. 

In a supreme act of control, he takes a step back. 

Another. 

“Good,” Rey says, in that horrible tone of hers. “Very good. Now keep going. About twenty more times. I can help out if you don’t think you can count that high.” 

His nails cut through the lining of his pockets and into his thigh. He takes a rigid step back. 

But Rey can’t seem to let it drop. 

_“One,”_ she says, faux-encouraging and counting slow. “ _Two_.” 

His temper snaps instead of her finger. 

“It’s inconsiderate!” he spits. 

“What is? You telling me what to do at my house? Yes, I agree. That’s _very_ inconsiderate.” 

“You have access to two entire acres,” he says, “and you plant them on the street?” 

Rey sucks her teeth at him. It is possibly the single most infuriating sound he’s ever heard. “We live in the _country_.” 

“ _And?_ ” 

“And no one’s dolin’ out Home and Garden awards for this zip code, hate to break it to you!” Rey throws her hands on her hips. “Besides, tomatoes need direct sunlight. You see a lot of that around here?” 

The pine trees are everywhere. She’s not exactly wrong. 

“They’re an eyesore,” he hisses, heart beating faster now, like he’s hunting mid-chase. 

“Then don’t look at them.” 

“It’s inconsiderate to your neighbors,” he repeats, lungs burning, using the last of his air. 

“You’re my only neighbor,” she says, as if he might have forgotten. 

As if he needs another reminder that they’re out here all alone, half of a mile from the nearest house. 

“Yes,” he says. “Unfortunately.” 

Rey’s eyes flare. 

She straightens her shoulders, throws on a smile, and then says, crystal clear as anything, “Why don’t you eat my fucking shorts.” 

Ben chokes. 

He feels light-headed. Apoplectic. 

“What did you just say?” 

Her smile is a pleasant, sunny thing. “Eat. My. Shorts,” she says. Then she tilts her head, ponytail swinging behind her, sweat dripping down her throat. 

Her throat. 

Her throat. 

He’s going to kill her. 

He’s going to kill her, then eat her, then kill her again. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


A week passed. 

Ben’s car didn’t leave the driveway. No other cars came or went. 

“I don’t know, Finn,” Rey said into her phone. “What if he’s dead in there or something.” 

Rey kicked an acorn as she wandered around the backyard, heading in the general direction of the chickens. She wasn’t the type who could sit still on a phone call. Her friendship with Finn had taught her that. 

“He’s not dead, Rey,” Finn reassured her. 

“I’m not— _look_ , I’m not saying I’m worried about it.” She spared a glance into the chicken coop, conducting a quick count. BB was hogging all the feed. _Again._ “I’m just saying if he did die, no one would know. Because he’s mean and terrible and everyone hates him.” 

“What's terrible is this line of conversation,” Finn said. “We need to stop talking about this guy, Rey. I’m sorry your neighbor is an asshole, and trust me, as your friend, I hate him too, but talking about him is really bringing you down.” 

“He _is_ an asshole,” Rey muttered. She picked up the large lime green watering can and wedged her phone against her shoulder. “Did I tell you what he called me when I was out trying to save those tomato plants I got three for a dollar at the farmers market?” 

“Rey,” Finn said, a sigh and clear warning. 

One she blatantly ignored. 

“An idiot!” she exclaimed, turning the rusty spigot at the back of the house. Water drummed into the plastic bottom of her watering can. “He called me a pretty little idiot! Because I was planting tomatoes at the end of July! Like he’s some kind of tomato expert!” 

_“Rey.”_

The water pressure increased, spraying off in all directions. Onto her shorts. Her hands. She adjusted her phone. 

“Like, excuse me for _trying_ , you know? Excuse me for doing _something_ with my time other than butting my big ugly nose into other people’s business like a patronizing piece of—” 

_“Rey!”_

She paused. 

“Yeah?” she asked, exhaling hard through her nose. 

“Deep breaths,” Finn said. “Jesus. This is exactly what I’m talking about. I’ve never known you to get this worked up about someone.” 

Rey inhaled, exhaled. Did the whole process again. 

“I’m not worked up,” she said. 

And then, immediately after, “I’m maybe a little worked up.” 

“It’s okay,” Finn said. “Really. I’d let you get this out of your system, but we’ve had this conversation about twenty times now. You keep winding yourself up and spinning in circles. We’re not covering new ground, here. I know the exact flavor of douchebag this guy is; pretty sure I could pick him out of a line up at this point.” 

Rey shut off the spigot and leaned her forehead against the side of the house. The late afternoon sun burned her neck. 

“He’d be the biggest Hot Topic-looking fuck around,” she grumbled. 

Finn sighed, weary. Resigned. “Does he wear those snarky little shirts?” he asked, indulging her. “The ones everyone thinks are so clever?” 

Rey barked a short, caustic laugh. “No. Black. He wears black. _Nothing_ but black.” 

“Like a vampire.” 

“Pale enough to be a vampire,” she muttered. 

“Okay, vampire asshole. Got it. Established. Can we change the subject now?” 

“Yeah,” Rey said, lifting her head. She picked up the full watering can and hefted it in her right hand. “Sorry. I want to hear about you and Poe. How are y’all doing?” 

Finn tutted. “Yeah, okay, nice try. I already know all about me and Poe,” he said, “and you would too if you ever came to visit. What I wanna talk about is when you’re next coming into town. The college students will be back soon. Summer’s almost over.” 

Rey marched toward the front yard. This was another frequently trailed conversation topic. She knew every inch of the path ahead. 

Still, she said, “Whenever there’s an invite.” 

Finn let out an affronted sound, practically on cue. “Don’t give me that! You turned down _two_ invitations last week!” 

Rey stopped short. “Those weren’t invites, Finn, and you know it! They were set-ups, clear as day.” 

“What are you even talking about?” 

“I’m talking about Niv and Lek. You trying to tell me they weren’t going to be at your house with us, too, just _hanging out?_ Just _catching up_?” 

“They’re friends of ours!” 

“Well they’re not friends with me!” Rey said, a little louder than she probably should have. 

She took a breath. 

Willed herself to relax. 

“Look, and I ask this sincerely—can I hang out with y’all _without_ Poe constantly trying to set me up? Please? I’m not looking to date, and you know that.” 

Finn sighed, repentant. Soft and fond. “I know, Peanut. I do know. Poe means well. He just doesn’t want you to feel left out. Between me and Poe, and Rose and Kaydel.” 

“I don’t feel left out. I’m cool with being the fifth wheel. I’ve said it a hundred times.” 

“... are you though?” 

“Yes!” She started walking again. “Jesus, Finn, I’m _so_ cool. I don’t know how else to tell you. I’m the _epitome_ of cool. I’m the other side of the pillow levels of cool. I’m cooler than being cool, I’m—” 

She dropped the watering can. 

There was a heavy thunk and a rush of water. A tidal wave of it, crashing over her toes. 

She screamed. 

“Rey?” Finn sounded staticky and far away. “Rey, are you okay?” 

She screamed again, guttural and short. “That asshole!” She stomped a soaking wet foot. “That _piece of shit!”_

If she wasn’t clutching her phone so hard she would have dropped it. As it stood, she was practically cracking the screen. 

“Talk to me, Rey. What’s going on?” 

Rage burned through her like a flash-fire, eating the oxygen in her lungs, her ability to think. 

“He—Ben—he—” 

“What, Rey?” Finn asked, concerned. “What did he do?” 

“He— _he ripped up my tomato plants!_ ” 

  
  
  
  
  
  


After the week she’d had, it didn’t take much convincing to get Rey to drive into town Friday night. 

Bourbon. Dancing. Familiar friendly faces. Familiar friendly faces and no— _anyone else_. 

She was an easy sell. 

One round in, though, and she was already beginning to regret her decision. 

“I’ve got it this time,” Poe said. 

“You don’t.” 

“I do.” 

“Help,” she said to nobody. To the sky, the stars, the sea of other people outside at the bar. Rose and Finn had left to get drinks, and like a sucker, she’d stayed behind. 

It was stupid of her. _Stupid_. People didn’t change. 

“Oh, stop that. You don’t know who I’m going to say,” Poe said, now at the self-righteously offended part of this song and dance. 

Rey clutched her empty beer bottle. “No, _you_ stop.” 

“I’ve really got someone this time.” 

“You _don’t_ ,” she said again, elbow on the table. She pressed the cool green glass of the bottle into her face. 

“You can’t say no to someone if you don’t know who they are.” 

“Doesn’t matter.” 

“This one might matter. This one might be your _soulmate._ You could be missing out on your _soulmate_ , Rey.” 

The beer bottle was warm now. She ripped it away from her forehead with a low groan. “Alright, who is it?” 

Poe grinned. Widely. “Snap,” he said. 

“Nope.” 

Poe’s face fell. “Why?” 

“Because I said so.” 

“Yes, but _why?”_

_That should be enough._

_That should be all you need to know._

“Because I’m not attracted to him.” 

Poe exhaled through his nose. For a second, he looked like he was going to fight her on it, but he stopped himself. Just barely. 

Grudgingly, he said, “Fair enough. I think he’d surprise you, but fair enough.” He steepled his fingers, narrowed his eyes. “Okay, someone else, then.” 

“No—” 

Poe’s expression turned sly. 

“—no, Poe—” 

“Shh. Quiet. I need to think.” 

“I—” Rey closed her eyes. 

She hated this conversation. She hated it so much. This desperate attempt to connect her with someone else, the reminder and the futility of it. 

And Finn _was_ right: Poe meant well. He honestly meant well. He’d never stop. 

“—I’m kind of seeing someone.” 

There was a dip. A pause. 

Wincing, Rey opened her eyes. 

Poe was staring. “You’re _what_?” 

“Taken. Kind of. It’s—” _private, none of your business, a boldfaced and absolute lie_ — “new,” she settled on. “And complicated. Things probably won’t work out.” 

“You’re _dating someone?”_ Poe shouted. Three college kids turned to look at them, brows raised over their vodka sodas. 

Rey’s pulse spiked. She shot up in her seat. “Jesus, Poe, keep your voice down!” 

“I want to meet them.” 

Fuck. 

“No.” 

“Why not?” he asked, sounding far more indignant than he had any right to be. 

“Because it’s _new_.” 

Poe pulled back and turned his head slightly, considering. Then he nodded magnanimously, like he was issuing a decree, granting her a gift. “Soon, then.” 

“Maybe.” Rey’s hands curled tight at her sides. “I don’t know. It’s too new of a thing to make any promises.” 

Once more, Poe nodded. Rey let out a relieved breath. Inhaled another. 

“And besides,” she added, trying to delegitimize everything she’d said and making an incalculable error in the process, “it really isn’t serious. We’re just sleeping together right now.” 

Poe’s jaw dropped. 

His eyes lit up. 

“What’d I miss?” Rose asked, bouncing on her feet, dancing absently to the background music. She handed Rey a second Heinakan, then scooted in next to her on the wooden booth. “Did Rey cave?” She looked at Rey. “Did you cave?” 

“Nope,” Poe said. His tone had Rey drawing her knees up, wanting to cover her eyes. He sounded positively _gleeful._

Rose, not one to miss much, turned back to Poe, pivoting in slow motion. 

“Good,” Finn said, appearing right next to his boyfriend. “I don’t think Snap would be a good fit. Nothing against the guy, of course. I just don’t see it.” He nudged Poe as he sat down, hitting him with his elbow. “Besides, I _told him_ this was a matchmaking-free night. On pain of Netflix privileges and death.” 

“You don’t see anyone here, do you?” Poe asked, affronted. He plucked his own vodka soda up from the table and tilted it in Rey’s direction. “Anyway, it wouldn’t have worked. Rey’s _taken_.” 

“What do you mean?” Finn asked. 

Poe grinned. “You know what I mean.” 

“I—no. No. We _just_ talked on the phone.” Finn swung around to face her. “Care to fill me in?” 

Rey aimed a desperate kick at his legs and hit the table instead. 

Her heart pounded. Her toes smarted. 

“It’s _new_ ,” Poe said, smug and authoritative. Pleased as all hell to be the one letting them in on this secret. “They’re only sleeping together right now.” 

“Who?” Finn asked Poe. “Who is she sleeping with?” 

“I—” Poe frowned, “—don’t know.” He turned to Rey. “What’s their name?” 

“Yeah, Rey, what’s their name?” Finn asked, almost aggressive. 

“Yeah, Rey, what’s their name?” Rose asked her, highly amused. 

_Yeah, Rey, what’s their name?_ she asked herself, two seconds from frantic. 

A name. 

A name. 

She didn’t know anyone. 

“You don’t know anyone,” Finn said. 

He was right. She was right. 

And she was wrong. Wrong to lie. 

Her heart beat fast. Faster. 

“Ben,” she said, and almost jumped as she heard his name fall out of her mouth. 

Shit. _Fuck_. 

Okay. 

She straightened her shoulders. “Ben,” she said again, more confident this time. 

Rose laughed. “Your neighbor? The tomato guy?” 

“ _Yes_ ,” Poe confirmed. “Holy shit, _yes_.” 

“You hate him!” Finn said. 

Rey swallowed. “I—I maybe don’t _hate_ him,” she forced out, her mouth souring around the words. 

“You do!” 

Poe swept his arm across the table, knocking over a beer bottle he didn’t move to pick up. “No, no, shut up, this is perfect. This is perfect.” He made eye contact with Rey. “The sex must be _fantastic._ ” 

Rey covered her face with her hands. “It’s—it’s pretty okay.” 

“You told me you threw a tomato plant _in his face.”_

“And then she fucked him,” Poe said, knowingly. 

She took a shuddering breath through her palms. 

“And then I—yep, yep I did that. The thing that you said.” She spread her fingers wide enough to shoot an apologetic look at Finn. “I was going to tell you tonight.” 

Finn stared back at her, saying nothing. Saying nothing. 

Until he softened, sobering. Leaned over across the table like it was just the two of them. “Are you serious, Peanut?” 

Something clogged up her throat. 

Eyes wide, almost watery, she let out a pathetic little, “Yeah.” Squeaked it, really, feeling two feet tall. 

Rose laughed. 

“Just wait til I tell Kay,” she said with a grin. “God, she’s going to _flip_.” She shook her head and patted Rey hard on the back in a show of undeniable support and admiration. “Good for you, babe.” 

“That’s right!” Poe said. His hands banged in time on the table as he hooted and cheered. “Good. For. You!” 

But it didn’t feel very good. 

Not at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> please come yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/AllFrak) if you so desire ❤️


	2. why did the werewolf cross the road?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's art there's art THERE'S ART!!!!!!! the amazing [@reylographer](https://twitter.com/reylographer) made not one BUT TWO amazing pieces from the first chapter. gaze upon them ([here](https://twitter.com/reylographer/status/1315260811850534912) & [here](https://twitter.com/reylographer/status/1315409603316854785)) and weep!!!
> 
> thanks as well go to the lovely [jane](https://twitter.com/janedazey) for looking this chapter over! i of course messed with it after she looked through it, so any goofs you find are mine and mine alone. 
> 
> a note in my note: i'm trying to make this process fun and low stress for me. i hope that you are having fun, too. ALSO, i don't really know much of anything about chickens, so don't @ me if you do. why i mention this will become apparent very soon. :D

Actually, it felt pretty okay. 

After a few days, at least. 

The lying thing wasn’t great, of course. She hated that and had to bury her reaction to it deep. It joined her little guilt collection, walled off low in the pit of her stomach, never to be revisited, acknowledged, or consciously thought over. Which, you know, wasn’t a huge problem. 

So, yeah. Beyond that tiny, insignificant detail, it really _was_ pretty okay. 

Great, even. Something like an answer. Or an opening door. 

Apparently, her single status had been sitting heavy on the friend group. But now? 

Now she was a part of a _couple_. She was part of a _group._

In the past two weeks, she’d driven in for drinks once. Dinner twice. Yesterday, they floated the Chattahoochee. The whole extended circle of them, including three single co-workers of Poe's that were never once pushed her way. 

Rey snuggled into Maz’s couch, sunburnt and more than slightly hungover. Mindlessly, she stared at her laptop. At the next module for Intro to Computer Science and Programming in Python, the open-source MIT course she finally had the time and mental wherewithal to take. Sunburnt hangover aside, that was going pretty okay, too. 

It was all pretty okay. Which, in her world, meant things were pretty fucking fantastic. 

Rey sipped her iced coffee and smiled. 

Floating the river had been one of the best days she’d had in a while. It had been a picturebook summer day. Lazy. Long and blurry-edged, colored with frequent laughter, cool water, and far too much beer. 

It made the loudest parts of her wonder what else she’d missed out on. It made the increasingly optimistic parts of her glad she’d invented Ben. 

This version of him, anyway. 

Ben, her sort-of boyfriend. Ben, her hook-up friend. 

And, at this stage, only a month in, he didn’t even have to be a real person yet. They were still getting to know each other. Still _figuring things out_. 

The group asked about him. No surprises there. They prodded, curious and kind, so Rey canned her responses, careful to talk in broad strokes and never specifics. To hide behind false modesty and vague references that were nonetheless technically true. 

_He’s a really_ big _guy, you know?_

_Neither of us get out much; we prefer to stay in._

_He’s, uh, attentive. Very intense._

Each of her roughly stumbled admissions would spark hooted laughter, conspiratorial smiles—playful ribbing from the entire group. In return, Rey would shake her head and hide her eyes. Maybe blush if she was lucky. 

And that would be that. All they needed from her. Some harmless teasing, and they’d all get their fill. 

Except for Finn, that is. 

He didn’t challenge her. Didn’t push against her half-formed picture of Ben. But he _would_ come up to her privately after the subject had changed. Would touch her shoulder or squeeze her hand, checking in on her, wanting to make sure that she was happy, that she was doing okay. 

And she was. Happy. 

She was doing okay. 

Rey took another sip of her coffee. The ice was melting fast, her mason jar beading with sweat. Another sip, and she willed focus. Turned back to her laptop screen, intent on working her way through the current lesson plan, like she’d outlined for herself earlier in the week. No distractions, no excuses. Not her hangover, not her sunburn, not even— 

The doorbell. 

Ringing. 

An abrupt and oddly placed _ding-dong_. 

Rey almost didn’t place it, at first. It was hard to recognize something you’d never heard before, after all. 

She lived alone. Didn’t have unexpected visitors. 

Unexpected visitors. 

_Fuck._

Heart jumping, she grabbed her silenced phone, sure she’d find a missed call or a _haha, see you in twenty_ message from Finn. 

No notifications. There was nothing. 

But there was another ring. 

_Ding-dong._

At the second two-toned sound, Rey closed her laptop. Stood up from the couch, adjusting her sleep shorts and oversized t-shirt, wary. Muscles tensed. There was only one other person it could— 

_Ding-dong._

_Ding-dong._

_Ding-dong._

Her teeth ground together. “I’m coming!” she yelled. 

In answer, another blaring ring. 

Rey stomped to the entryway, feet heavy on the hardwood floor. Shoulders back and nostrils flared, she wrenched open the door, ready to shout in his face. 

Because it was Ben, of course. It was _always_ going to be Ben. 

Big and broad and dressed as impractically as ever. Dark jeans, white shirt, black bomber jacket. So stupid. So absolutely beyond-reason _dumb_. 

The way he was dressed. The expression on his face. Everything about him. Her blood pressure spiked just _looking_ at him standing there, somehow off the porch and standing several yards away. 

And then she registered what, exactly, he held in his hands. 

Her stomach dropped. 

Her heart lodged in her throat. 

Because—BB. 

He was holding _BB_. 

Dangling her upside down by her legs. 

The fat orangey-red hen was as limp as a ragdoll, raised shoulder-height and swaying, held captive in one of Ben’s massive hands. 

Rey lunged. 

Or made to lunge. _Thought_ of lunging. 

But Ben saw right through her. Like he’d sensed her, read her, coiled tight and ready to spring. 

Without blinking, he took an easy step backwards. 

Raised BB higher. 

“What – ” Rey stopped. Hovered, quivering in the doorway. “What did you _do_ to her?” 

Ben didn’t seem to hear her. 

His brow was drawn, and he was staring at her. Frowning. 

“What’s wrong with your face?” 

“My – ?” Her head shook, eyebrows at her hairline. “What did you just say to me?” 

“Your face. What’s wrong with it?” 

She inhaled sharply, incredulous. A jolting, wide-eyed _what-the-fuck._

“I’m sunburnt, genius!” Her nose was blistered, peeling, painful—and _entirely_ irrelevant. “What are you doing with my chicken?” 

“Ah,” Ben said, like he’d almost forgotten. He hefted BB higher, like she was a freshly caught fish. “So it is yours.” 

“Clearly,” Rey spat, before glancing back to BB. “Stop holding her like that! You’re going to hurt her.” 

Ben tilted his head, lip lifted in a sneer. “Calm down. This hold just makes them docile. It was flapping its wings too much. This was the only way I could carry it across the street.” 

Rey’s jaw tightened. 

She took a slow step forward. “ _Actually_ , that hold puts too much pressure on her internal organs and _also freaks her the fuck out_. Put her down.” 

Ben ignored her. 

Or, not quite ignored her. 

If anything, he shifted BB higher. Leveraging. _Taunting_. “A thank you might have been nice.” 

Rey saw red. 

“Put her down!” 

“That’s not a good idea,” Ben said. 

“I don’t care!” Her hands formed tight fists. Her voice cracked with strain. “I don’t care! Put her down!” 

“Here?” 

“Now!” 

Ben pressed his lips together and stared at her in silent, thick-tensioned judgment. 

But then he caved, bending to place BB on the walkway, flipping her over efficiently if not gently. When he stood, he crossed his arms over his massive chest. “You’re welcome,” he said sardonically. Face-punchingly. 

Rey’s fists clenched. 

And BB fluttered her wings, coming back to her senses. 

Rey sagged, expelling a relieved breath. 

Heart leveling, she walked forward, intending to step off the porch and scoop BB into her arms. 

Of course, before she could, the little hen’s head jerked up, whipping sideways. BB went bug-eyed. Statue-still. 

For a second, at least. 

Then she took off like a shot, warbling with terror, flapping her wings, and digging her wiry taloned feet into the ground for leverage like she’d sensed a snake in the grass. A coyote or fox or neighborhood dog. She zigged and zagged, bolting across the lawn, an instinct-driven wild thing. 

Rey didn’t hesitate. 

She leapt from the porch and sprinted after the poor bird, darting right past a motionless Ben. Barefoot, braless, and legs pumping like mad, Rey ran as fast as she could, uncaring how ridiculous she looked. 

What followed was a short yet incredibly stressful process. 

BB was clever and agile and spooked out of her tiny chicken mind. By the time Rey wrangled her back into her coop, she was exhausted. And bleeding. Scratched a little, both from BB’s talons and from skidding across the dirt during an ill-timed dive. 

Blowing hair out of her mouth, Rey stood. Sand and grit stuck to her skinned knees. It stung. The scratch on her thigh did too. 

She winced, brushing her knees, straightening her clothes, and finally getting back around to thinking about Ben. 

Ben who was gone. Ben who hadn’t lifted a finger to help. Had disappeared into his house or the woods or the fucking ether, same as always. 

Rey scowled. _Of course he’d just leave_. 

But then, directly after that thought, she felt bad for having it. For discounting how he _had_ , indeed, helped. There _were_ actual coyotes in the woods. Rey had heard them. Several times, nearby and late at night. 

Her scowl intensified. 

Ben could’ve just let BB wander her way into a predator’s clutches, but he hadn’t. He’d done a good thing by bringing her back over here. Had been a considerate neighbor if not an outright kind one. 

But then, directly after _that_ thought, Rey pushed it aside, mentally stomping on it. Because he was patronizing. And an asshole. All around not worth her time. 

So she stewed. And she vacillated. Waffling around her actual feelings even as she methodically filled up an old carton with twelve freshly laid eggs. 

She ran inside to grab shoes. (And put on a bra.) (And comb her hair.) (And kind of clean the gash on her thigh.) 

During that process, she talked herself out of it. 

Talked herself out of it until she was right at Han’s front door. Bright red. Newly painted. 

The porch swing swayed, creaking in the wind. Rey took a deep breath and looked down. There wasn’t a welcome mat any longer. 

“This was stupid,” she muttered to herself, flexing her free hand. “You should have just written him a note.” 

But she hadn’t, and she was here, and she was a _bigger fucking person_ than that _giant caustic temper with legs_ , so she turned her flexed hand into fist, swallowed most of her pride, and knocked on the door. 

There was a deafening crash. 

A sound like furniture cracking. Falling or hitting a wall. 

Rey jumped back, heart clattering in her sternum. “Ben?” she yelled. “What was – ” 

Another crash, like foley in a sound studio. 

“Ben!” 

Darting forward, she tried the front door. 

Locked. 

She rattled it anyway. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” 

“Go,” he yelled back. His voice was hoarse. Raw and not quite human. “I’m fine! Leave me alone!” 

Rey sucked in a breath, squeezing the egg carton hard enough to break it. She had no idea what just happened, but several stomach-turning images came to mind. He’d slipped. Stumbled on the stairs. Flipped over the railing. 

A guy as big as him would go down hard. 

_Help, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up._

“It doesn’t sound fine!” She leveled her body closer, pressing her ear flat, free hand still on the knob. “Do you need me to call someone?” 

“LEAVE!” 

Rey flinched away, heart pounding. He sounded like he was _right_ next to the door. 

“GO!” he bellowed again, like he could see her. Like he could tell she hadn’t moved. “LEAVE! I DON’T WANT YOU HERE!” 

Hand over her heart, Rey struggled to calm herself, angry and confused. 

No, angry. Just angry. 

She took a step back. 

“Well, fuck you too, then,” she whispered, voice shaking. 

Against her hurt feelings and better judgment, she left the thank you eggs on the porch, right where Han’s worn welcome mat used to be. 

But not before she plucked out the largest speckled one from the carton and egged his front door. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


She didn’t see Ben the next day. Or the following one. Or, disconcertingly, for the entire next week. 

For all she knew, he was still there on the floor with his back out. Crying and cursing himself, wracked with regret about how he’d been too much of an asshole to let her in. 

Well, no. 

No, he probably wasn’t. 

For one thing, Rey doubted Ben possessed the emotional intelligence required for regret. For another, a caved-in coffee table had appeared on the curb right next to his trash cans, so wherever he was, he was at least mobile. 

But even though Rey inspected the antique coffee table for longer than she needed to, she didn’t see him peeking at her through the windows. There was no sign or scent or flash of light inside the house. 

And that was fine. Rey didn’t actually care. 

She and Boyfriend-Ben were seeing each other plenty. 

Because they’d graduated to that term somehow. Unthinkingly. 

Athens was to blame. Near the end of September, she’d driven in to hear Poe and Paige play in that ludicrous cover band of theirs. It was an away game weekend, and much of the student body had left to watch, thinning out the crowd at the venue substantially. 

But there were still enough who decided to stay behind. Students. Male students. 

Of the piss-blind frat douche variety. 

After Kaydel swatted off yet another aggressive ball cap boy, she sagged against the bar and shouted an exasperated, “ _Men!”_ over the music. 

“I know!” Rey glared in the last guy’s general direction, face pursed in disgust. He’d been smug and insistent, slurring something he’d no doubt thought had been smooth. “I’m so glad I have a boyfriend!” 

A hand clutched her bicep. 

Rey jumped in surprise at Kaydel’s ironclad grip. Then felt the bottom drop out of her stomach as realization set in. 

Kaydel’s eyes were wide. Unbearably excited. 

“Boyfriend?” she said, and—yes, there it was. A wide grin to match. 

Oh no. 

_“Boyfriend?”_

It was a stupid fumble. An unthinking slip. 

But she could recover. Was not the absolute worst at thinking on her feet. 

Before Rey could pivot, though, Rose bounced up to the counter. In one smooth motion, she hopped onto an empty barstool and kissed Kaydel on the cheek. Lips bright. Exaggerated and smacking. 

Rose grinned, admiring the red imprint she’d left on her girlfriend’s cheek, before turning to them both. “What’s cookin’, good lookins?” 

Kaydel beamed. “Rey’s got a boyfriend!” she shouted. 

_“Really?”_ Rose said on an inhale. She sounded surprised and delighted. “Rey, I didn’t figure you for the label type.” 

Rey sputtered. “I—that’s because I’m _not_.” 

“It’s okay!” Rose held her hands up. “Embrace it, don’t fight! You’re a dope catch, Rey. I bet you make an _awesome_ girlfriend.” 

“Totally!” Kaydel chimed in. “You’d be the best.” 

Rey shrunk into the bar. Her fingers tapped on its sticky lacquered surface. And instead of throwing out a diversion, instead of moving forward with something that came from a place of reason or actual sense, she found herself saying, “I—I mean, I guess. I don’t know.” She looked down at her hands. “I’ve never been a girlfriend before.” 

And she wasn’t. 

She still definitely _wasn’t_ a girlfriend. 

But when she looked up, Rose and Kaydel were both smiling close-lipped smiles at her, heads tilted in perfect sync. It was coupley and a little condescending—and also, strangely, heartwarming. 

Like they cared. 

“I’m sure you’re killing it,” Rose said. “Ben is lucky to have you.” 

“He’d be an idiot not to realize how great you are,” Kaydel said, throwing her hair back. “I’m glad he came to his senses. Or you both came to your senses. However it happened.” She waved her hand. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter. You’re _together-_ together now, and that’s what counts.” 

Rose nodded. “Definitely.” She smiled again. “Congratulations.” 

“ _Major_ congratulations.” Kaydel snapped her fingers. “Shots! This calls for shots.” 

“Tequila,” Rose agreed, slinging her arm around Kaydel’s shoulder. “My treat.” 

Before Rey could protest, Kaydel flagged down the bartender for Rose, holding up three fingers. 

Money was exchanged, drinks were produced, lime wedges were dolled out. And that was that. She and Ben were dating. 

Glass clinked, and Rey threw back her shot with a grimace. 

It burned. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


Fall brings with it a special kind of slowness. 

A fading, before-winter settling-in. Typically, Ben feels calmer in the fall. Relaxed. Or, at least, more relaxed. Relaxed in comparison to his normal state. The change in weather has always helped to soothe him, cool him, push him closer to fine. 

But he’s in Georgia now. 

Living in his dead human father’s house now. 

Living next to— 

  
  
  
  
  
  


The truck pulls up at eleven in the morning. 

It’s old and loud with a diesel engine, but even if it hadn’t been, after three months of constant hypervigilant sensitivity, there’s no way Ben would have missed it. 

His days are all routine and impulse. Impulse that has become routine. Fighting it, falling to it. Digging in against it and losing his mind in the process. 

All of the aggression, the sudden and unexpected shifts. Losing not just his temper, but also his body—the hulking shell of it no longer his own, even outside of the full moon. The lack of autonomy is something he hasn’t grappled with since he was thirteen and furious. So angry. So angry all of the time. 

He hates her. 

And he can’t stop thinking about her. 

It’s a _miracle_ she’s still alive. By all rights, by everything he knows, she should have been dead way back in July. Or, if not July, then August. August at the least. Watching Rey sprint past him, _away_ from him, like a rabbit in the summer, like she’d _wanted_ a chase— 

His wolf had screamed. 

_Find her, take her, push her down in the dirt._

And then he’d smelled the blood. 

It subsumed him. Spasming muscles, a phantom shift. And then an actual shift. Blood bubbling, joints burning. Claws bursting from his hands. He’d run back to his house and threw a furniture blockade in front of the door without a second to spare before losing the last vestige of his human sanity. Remembers screaming and little else. 

He’s kept away from her since. Diligently and resolutely. 

Except for the time she’d crawled onto her roof to clean the gutters in the middle of a thunderstorm, he hasn’t even seen her. Well, that and the time she’d decided to burn yard trash late at night on a Tuesday in mid-September, where the smoke clogged up his olfactory senses and also his reason. And then, of course, there’d been her actual smoke alarm going off later that month. 

Other than that, though, there’s been nothing. He stays inside, and he works, and he goes camping out of state when he needs to, and he doesn’t think at all, least of all about her. 

He avoids her, and he avoids a murder charge. It’s that simple. 

Only now there’s a truck in her driveway. 

And a chainsaw buzzing. 

Two men on her lawn. 

Ben is out the door and across the street before he knows it, breathing deeply, lungs inflating, drawing himself up to full height. 

Rey is standing under a large oak tree in the middle of her front yard. She’s wearing jean shorts, a red flannel shirt, and a terrible face-twisting scowl. Her hands are clenched. Clenching. 

Ben feels his hands do the same. 

Rey turns toward one of the two men—the one not high in a tree, the one not holding the chainsaw. “We talked about this. I just needed the one dead limb removed.” 

“Dead _limbs_ ,” the man says. He’s middle-aged and balding. Cocksure and foul-smelling. “There're plenty’a branches up there that need to come down—that’ll knock out your power lines just like the’other.” 

As if to punctuate this statement, his partner in the tree cranks up the chainsaw again. It buzzes, sawdust flying. 

The noise is earsplitting. Visceral. Ben grits his teeth, sneering, as the sound buzzes painfully, ricocheting inside his head. 

Rey jabs her finger and shouts, “That’s not what we discussed, Ted!” 

“You hired us to get rid of the hazardous limbs on that tree, ma’am! That’s what we’re doing.” 

Ben’s ears ring as the chainsaw cuts off. A spindly branch—not held by any kind of rope or cord—falls to the ground with a crack. It hits far too close to where Rey is standing. 

His spine lights with tension. 

“Do you think I was born yesterday?” Rey asks, clearly furious. “That’s a live branch! You tell your man to come down from that tree.”

“Ma’am,” Ted starts to say. His hands are out, and his voice is low. Demonstrably, pointedly calm. “Ma’am, now there’s no need to shout. We’re just doing our job.” 

Ben grits his teeth so hard his jaw hurts. He imagines taking Ted’s outstretched hands and breaking each stubby finger one by one. Maybe he’ll even get to do it. 

“What’s going on here?” he asks, stepping forward. His voice is low, too. Edged with threat. 

Both Rey and Ted jump. 

_"Fuck,"_ Rey mutters, hand flying to her chest. She takes a ragged, shoulder-shaking breath before swinging that same palm out in his direction. “Stay out of this, Ben.” 

Ben quivers, tensed up and tensing, glaring at her palm. 

“You her husband?” Ted asks. 

Rey gasps, dropping her arm. 

And Ben opens up his stance, planting his feet wide. He eyes this short, oily man. This intruder on his territory. 

His lip curls. “And if I am?” 

“I—” the man says, staring at Ben. He doesn’t say anything else. 

Rey inhales sharply. Exhales harshly. “You need to leave,” she says to Ted. “Now. Take your man and go.” 

Ted hesitates. His eyes flick to Ben, who smiles tightly, showing teeth. The man starts to sweat. 

Jerkily, Rey yanks out her phone, movements far too economical, finger making harsh strokes. From Ted’s belt, his phone chimes. “There,” she says. “I’ve paid you. Don’t go telling Plutt otherwise.” 

“ _Fine_ ,” Ted says loudly, sour-smelling, near-fragrant with fear. He spits on the ground before hollering up the tree. 

Blood rushes in Ben’s ears, and the men get into their truck. They make a distasteful, wounded pride show of it. Slamming doors, stomping their feet, lowly muttering all kinds of uninventive, disgusting curses that Ben can nonetheless hear. 

Ben trembles, hands clenched. Pictures punching in the side window, ripping them out of the car by their throats. 

The back of the truck has TED O’DONAVAN’S TREE SERVICE, HONEST AND DEPENDABLE displayed across it in large vinyl letters. 

The letters get smaller and smaller as the truck drives away. 

But the fire inside Ben only grows. 

“Where did you find them?” he growls, finally able to turn back to Rey. 

She crosses her arms. Her fingers bunch in the worn flannel of her shirt. “They worked for an old boss,” she says, chin in the air. “They’re cheap.” 

“They’re _cheaters,_ ” Ben says, incensed. “They were cheating you.” 

“I’m aware,” Rey snaps. “I was handling it. I didn’t need your help.” 

Anger rattles his insides. 

He glares. In general and at Rey. 

And then he looks, taking in her pinched expression—her tensed shoulders and reddened face. 

“I know that,” he says. Because he does. She’s infuriating, vexation incarnate and also seconds from dead, but he does know that. 

“Okay. Okay, well—thank you,” Rey flings out, like it’s another insult. Like the entire process pains her. She rolls her eyes. “For coming over or whatever.” 

“You should file a report.” 

Her laugh is harsh. Barbed. “Why do I even – ” She bites her lip, looking back up at the sky. “You know what? Yes, actually. Thank you. Great advice. I’m gonna go call the Better Business Bureau right now. Please stand by.” 

Ben sucks in a deep breath. 

Which—mistake. What a terrible mistake. 

Her scent spreads like smoke, fast and reaching, swirling down his throat, speeding up his heart. Choking him. Sparking him. That overwhelming, sanity-stealing emotion flares, close to burning out his human brain and every other sense. He hardly even hears the rev of an engine from down the road. 

But then he does hear it. And he tenses. 

And, shortly after, Rey hears it, too. 

She stamps her foot on the ground. “Are they fucking coming _back_?” 

But they’re not. They’re not coming back. It’s not their car. 

It’s a Jeep. 

An old white one with a sunroof. Ben knows this because as soon as the car pulls into view, a man pops his head out of it. Before the car pulls into the driveway, the man shouts, “Rey! Hey, Rey!” His hands wave, crossing in the air, as the car pulls into the gravel driveway. “We’re engaged! We’re engaged! Poe proposed, we’re getting _married!_ ” 

The man sounds jubilant. Ecstatic. In the clouds with bliss. 

Beside Ben, Rey goes absolutely still. 

She takes a shallow breath. Then another. Then she swings her face around to him. 

She looks pale. Pale and desperate. Something like panic lights her eyes. And, for some reason, an answering emotion sparks in Ben’s stomach. In his blood, his muscles. He vibrates, torn and overwhelmed as his wolf rises higher inside him, hackles raised and frantic, searching for a threat. 

The jeep honks several times. The driver rolls down his window. “Start lookin’ for your bridesmaids dress, baby, because you’re gonna— _holy shit, is that Ben?”_

Ben’s eyes narrow. 

He’s been inching toward Rey this whole time, involuntarily like a magnet, but now he steps in front of her, glaring at the gawking, black-haired man. 

In the end, this is what he will blame for what happens next. 

Slim fingers encircle his wrist. Rey tugs, turning him, spinning him around. 

It’s the first time they’ve ever touched. 

There’s a buzzing in his ears. 

“Please, Ben.” Her grip tightens, shaking. _“Please_ , Ben, will you?” 

“What?” he brings himself to ask. 

He blinks, eyes heavy, and realizes far too late that Rey’s been talking. That behind him, these two new men have been moving; have parked and are getting out of their car. 

Time has passed. 

He doesn’t remember it passing. 

He only knows that before, his insides were raging. Were screaming _fight_ and _find_ and if necessary _kill_. 

But that was before. Now— 

Now there’s a blanket over his senses. 

Not dampening anything, not dulling anything. It’s been wrapped around him, comforting. Calming. 

He feels calm. Like a fall wind has swept over him. Like cool mountain air has latched deep in his lungs. He’s only felt this way once before. 

He exhales, staring at her fingers. 

“What – what did you say?” 

Rey darts a look over her shoulder and curses. “Fuck. _Fuck_ , they’re almost here.” Frantic, she turns back to him. “Look, they’re my best friends, and I told them we were dating, and I’ll explain everything and break up with you later, I promise, but will you _please_ play along?” 

Her eyes are wide and beseeching. And brown. Hazel. A vibrant, pretty hazel. 

She blinks, and sluggishly, Ben’s gaze trails down to her throat. Her neck. The collar of her flannel shirt and the sliver of smooth skin exposed there. 

The urge to bite hasn’t left him. 

“Yes,” he says. 

And Rey releases a heavy, shuddering breath. 

“Oh, thank _god_ ,” she says, sagging with relief for a second before collecting herself. She turns, adjusting her grip so that their arms curl around each others, so that her fingers thread through his. 

He inhales very deeply, and the scent—the _smell_ of her—he can’t bring himself to stop. It brands his lungs. Bright. Beautiful. 

“Hello,” Rey calls, manic and audibly smiling. “So, uh—this is Ben! My boyfriend! So nice of you two to show up unannounced.” 

The two men step forward, and he tells himself they’re partners even as a growl traps itself low in his throat, even as he tucks Rey firmly into his side. 

She startles, looking up at him. 

Against his wrist, her pulse races. Her heart running, running, running. His heart is keeping right up. Running in the same direction. 

For the first time, he tightens his grip on her hands. 

Rey pauses. Then she jerks her head back to her friends. 

“Wait, did you say you were _engaged?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh oh, uh oh & here we go


	3. dietary restrictions/requirements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Right, that’s right,” she said, like she was just now remembering. She turned to the boys and said, “Would you like to come in for coffee? Or maybe a celebratory drink?” Her eyes flicked up to Ben. “I know you have that thing you have to—”
> 
> “No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you again to [jane](https://twitter.com/janedazey) for chatting w/me about this dumb, fun fic & providing such great feedback!!
> 
> for no reason at all, i would like to draw your attention to the " **mistaken identity** " and " **rey nobody from nowhere** " tags :) :)

Narrowed eyes. Pursed lips. A tilted chin. 

Finn looked at her for all the world like she’d lost her damn mind. 

And, well—he wasn’t exactly wrong. 

She was an idiot. Had been absolutely out of her head since August—no, July. Rey’s chest hollowed with anxiety. Her heart pounded in her ears. 

And Finn’s lips quivered, twisting. They pressed together for a long, drawn-out moment, before breaking into a helplessly curved line. He laughed. 

The sound puffed out of him, bashful and unbelieving. 

“Yeah,” he said. He shook his head and reached for Poe’s hand, wholly taken by the smile now. He grinned like he was fit to burst. “Yeah, we’re engaged.” 

Poe beamed. He lifted their clasped hands so that he could kiss the back of Finn’s palm, his eyes crinkled and bright. 

The gesture was loving. Easy, effortless, honest. 

Rey had Ben’s hand in a death grip. 

She couldn’t even feel him, that’s how hard she was squeezing. Her fingers tingled with it. Had been tingling since she’d touched him, if she was telling the truth, stress lighting her body like a livewire. 

Not that she _wanted_ to tell the truth here. Tell it, acknowledge it, be within spitting distance of it. The truth painted her a liar, and would leave her alone. 

Panic pressed harder on her chest. 

And her friends stared into each other’s eyes, hopelessly besotted. 

“I asked him last night,” Poe said, elation coming off of him in waves. “Over macaroni and fucking cheese.” 

Finn burst out laughing. “It was Stouffer’s,” he said, and looked at Rey, grinning. 

A laugh escaped her, despite everything. It was unhinged. A little breathless. “You hate Stouffer’s.” 

“I know!” Finn’s grin widened. “Can you believe it?” 

She could. 

She _really_ could. 

They loved each other. 

She took a deep, hitching breath and smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, I can believe it alright. I’m so happy for you two.” 

Finn’s eyes shined. “I couldn’t wait to tell you, Peanut. Everything’s just happening so fast.” 

Rey’s smile softened. Her heart felt smothered, run roughshod with a roiling tangle of emotions. But fondness was in there. Happiness, too. 

She walked forward to give Finn a hug. 

Or, she meant to anyway. But before she got more than a few steps, her arm snapped back, jerking like a dog at the end of its leash. 

She stumbled, pulled into the mountain that was Ben, who hadn’t so much as budged. And also hadn’t let go of her hand. Was _still_ holding it, and staring at it, like he’d never seen one before. Like he was goddamn high. 

Fuck, what had she been thinking? 

He was sabotaging her. 

Trying to mess this up. 

Or— 

“Oh,” Rey said. She forced a laugh, aiming for light and breezy, and ending somewhere in the vicinity of nails on a chalkboard. She scrambled forward. 

“Right, that’s right,” she said, like she was just now remembering. She turned to the boys and said, “Would you like to come in for coffee? Or maybe a celebratory drink?” Her eyes flicked up to Ben. “I know you have that thing you have to—” 

“No,” Ben said. Rey widened her eyes pointedly at him, but he pressed on. “No, I’m not going to—I don’t have to go anywhere.” 

Rey squeezed his hand tightly. Then tighter still when he didn’t so much as flinch despite his bones shifting in her grip. “Are you sure?” she asked, as emphatically as she thought she could get away with. “I know you said that you—” 

“It’s fine.” His gaze drifted over her head, eyes narrowing, focusing for perhaps the first time. “I can't leave now.” 

“Awesome!” Poe called, sounding to-the-brim giddy. Like he was floating, half a foot off the ground and rising. “Coffee sounds fantastic!” 

Rey’s stomach dropped again. For what might have been the fifth time in as many minutes. She didn't know how much lower it could possibly, conceivably go. 

“We’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Ben,” Finn said. “Rey’s told us so much about you.” 

Fuck. Lower. 

Definitely lower. 

It was at her feet, past her shoes, burrowing into the ground. 

“Yeah!” Poe chimed in. “All good things, don’t worry. Well, mostly good things. Good _enough_ , you know?” He waggled his eyebrows. 

Next to her, Ben stiffened. He didn’t speak. 

This was going to be impossible. There was no way—no _earthly_ way—that she was going to get away with this. 

Rey plastered on a smile and swallowed a scream, feeling out of her body. 

“Let’s go inside, shall we?” 

  
  
  
  
  
  


Maz’s place was a gorgeous mid-century farmhouse complete with high ceilings, original hardwood floors, patchy furniture straight out of the 70s, and terrible AC. 

It was altogether perfect. The best place she’d ever lived. 

What wasn’t perfect was Ben trailing after her like a puppy dog. Ben _still_ holding onto her hand. 

Finn and Poe weren’t stupid. They were among the smartest people she knew. 

“Take a seat on the couch,” she said to the boys, pointing at the brown-tone floral wingback sofa in the living room. “Ben,” she said for their benefit, “would you help me in the kitchen?” 

She didn’t wait for his response. It didn’t matter. They were still holding hands, after all, and she was already walking. Pulling him bodily behind her, moving as fast as she reasonably could. 

The second they slipped into the kitchen, she yanked her hand out of Ben's warm grasp and slung him toward the center of the room. She stumbled back a few steps until she could lean against the white laminate countertop. Could sink against it, really, shoulders sagging, body going almost limp. She felt strange. Both numb and jittery, nerve-endings overloaded with stress. 

It was an adrenaline crash. Intense and immediate, hitting her as soon as she clutched the counter if not sooner. Stress-driven emotional overloads weren’t an entirely unfamiliar experience for her, though this one was certainly the most extreme she could remember. Her body was acting up on her. Calling it quits. 

Which was rather unfortunate, seeing as they’d hardly even begun. 

“What the fuck was that?” she hissed at Ben, careful to keep her voice pitched low so that Finn and Poe couldn’t hear from the next room. 

Gentle midday light shone through the sheer lace curtains covering the side window. The dappled light danced along Ben's curved profile, his jawline. His pale, bewildered face. “What was what?” he asked, staring at his massive hand again like he'd never seen one before. 

He flexed it. Turned it. 

“Are you fucking high?” 

Ben dropped his hand, fingers curling. His eyes snapped to Rey's like she'd slapped him. “Excuse me?” 

“The hand thing,” Rey said in a harsh whisper. The reality of her situation pressed on her—this man, this tall, impossible, migraine of a man in _her kitchen_. In her _life._ Her head shook, unbelieving. “That right there. And don’t even get me started on before! I tried to give you an out. An excuse, a way to get us out of this mess, and you deliberately ran right over it.” 

Ben’s nostrils flared. “Get _us_ out of this mess?” he snapped. “Are you seriously mad at _me_ right now?” 

_Yes. Clearly._

Rey closed her mouth. Took a deep breath as she clung to the kitchen counter, palms digging into the sharp-edged laminate behind her. 

“No. No, I’m not mad.” 

“Do you lie to everyone?” Ben asked. "Is this just a thing you do?" 

How _dare_ he. 

Rey bristled. “ _No.”_

"Because you're lying to me right now. And you're terrible at it. I can _smell_ it on you." 

“Weird," Rey bit out before she could stop herself. Then her hands constricted, fingers digging into the counter hard enough to hurt. She took another deep, calming breath, fighting to keep her temper in check, her tone level. "I mean, that's a strange way to make your point, but no. No, I don't lie to everyone." 

Ben crossed his arms. “So you only lie when it comes to me, then? When it comes to—how did you phrase it?” He paused, like his mouth was struggling to form the words. “To _dating_ me?” 

“Keep your voice down!” Rey hissed. “They’re going to hear you.” 

“They’re not," Ben dismissed. "They’re too busy talking with each other.” 

At his unwavering confidence, Rey tilted her head, straining to listen, hearing absolutely nothing. Nothing except the pounding in her ears. 

Slowing down meant facing reality, letting it catch up to her. 

That was all around not something she wanted to do, but she couldn’t run from everything at all times. She’d tried that before, and the results weren’t something that should be repeated. Battles had to be picked. 

“Okay,” she said, to herself and to Ben. “Okay.” She closed her eyes, fighting for focus, fighting to stay above water and get back on track. She felt exhausted. Weirdly emotional, like she might cry. 

Which wasn’t that weird at all, she knew. She was about to get caught telling a protracted and very involved lie to her best and only real friend in the world. Tears weren’t an overreaction given her situation. 

But they _were_ unhelpful. 

And, despite how infuriating he was, despite how emotional she felt, none of this was Ben's fault. 

He’d reacted ridiculously _—conspicuously_ —when she’d touched him, yes, but could she actually get mad at him for that? He was always alone. Was probably touched less than even she was. And then here she was, desperate and demanding, springing this wildly unbelievable and inappropriate scenario on him—only to bite his head off at the nearest turn. 

Rey took a deep, steadying breath, and opened her eyes. 

Blinking quickly, she said, “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I know this is really strange and uncomfortable, and that you don’t like me at all, and that I’ve put you in an awkward position. You don’t have to play along. I can tell them the truth.” 

God, even thinking it made her eyes prick. Burn. She stared at the intricate pattern of the scratched linoleum flooring, not sure when she'd dropped her head. 

Ben's shoes inched into view. “I’ll help you,” he said, voice low and surprisingly gentle. His fingers reached out, tentative and slow, like he wasn't quite sure of himself or what he was doing, and touched hers. Covered hers, skimming over the top of her skin so lightly that she could feel the warmth and the friction of it. The sudden lightness in her chest. "I can do what you need me to today." 

Rey sagged. 

Relief crashed over her at his admission, tension unspooling. She felt exhausted. Bodily wrung out and a thousand times better. 

Her chest expanded on her next inhale. _“Thank you.”_

“You don’t need to thank me,” Ben murmured, bending down, not quite looking at her. And then strangely, “Okay, now they’re going to – ” 

“Y’all need help in there?” Finn called. 

Rey jumped, hand pinned against the countertop by Ben’s, and the rest of her body almost touching his now too. Her heart spiked, deciding that, once again, it was going to try and pound its way out of her chest. 

It didn’t matter that Ben had doubled down as a grudgingly willing participant, she was never going to get through this. She felt like Marietta Edgecombe from _Harry Potter_ , like the word _LIAR_ was emblazoned across her forehead for all to see. 

_GUILTY. AWFUL. LIAR_. 

Ben’s hand tightened over hers. 

He was closer now than moments ago. The rounded collar of his lightweight black sweater—a _sweater_ , honestly, in _this_ weather—was perhaps an inch from her nose. 

Rey watched his Adam’s apple bob and swallowed. Swallowed, preparing to answer Finn. 

She didn’t get the chance. 

A second later, and his head popped through the door. “Do you need me to— _oh_ ,” he said. 

_Oh_ , Rey heard. 

Eyes wide, she stared at her friend, who was staring at her, and tried to imagine what he saw. 

Ben this close. The enormity of him in her small kitchen, against her slim frame. Standing, bent and hovering over her, crowded _into_ her, like an actual lover might be. His hand on hers. Her spine curved back. The charged space between their bodies. The anticipation of it. Something approaching an embrace. 

Rey’s lips parted, mouth dry. 

And Poe popped up behind Finn, placing his chin on his fiancé’s shoulder. “See?” he said. “What did I tell you? They haven’t even _started_.” 

Rey straightened at Poe’s tone. Flustered, she pushed against Ben’s chest, and felt herself grow even more flustered when he didn’t budge so much as an inch. It was like pushing against a wall. 

“I—no,” she said. “Or rather, yes. We were talking, see, and I—” 

Ben’s hand wrapped around hers. 

Again. For the second time. It was an easy movement. Natural, almost, now. Calming, stilling. Like he was smoothing her rumpled lines. 

“Rey was nervous,” Ben said. “About me meeting you like this. She loves you both very much.” 

He sounded like an actual person. Nothing barked or growled or dazed about him. 

Poe sighed, smiling softly. Finn looked at her and, earnest to the last, said, “We love you, too, Rey.” 

It was too much. 

Rey pulled her hands up—both of them, having to wrest each of them from Ben’s strong, dual grip—and covered her face. Then, with only the slightest of tremors, she brushed her hair back behind her ears, sure she looked the definition of flustered, because she felt it. 

Poe certainly thought so. Though his thoughts ran to a different kind of flustered entirely. 

“Were you two smooching?” he teased. “You were, weren’t you?” 

“Okay,” Rey said loudly. She ducked under Ben’s bicep, escaping the cavern he’d formed around her. “ _Okay_ , I had a thought.” 

She made her way over to the fridge, yanking it open and squatting down to reach inside. The bottle of Cook’s was right where she’d left it, the label dingy and peeling at the corners. “I said celebratory, right?” She stood, raising the bottle. “How about some champagne?” 

Finn barked a laugh. “Is that—it _is_ , isn’t it? That’s the bottle I got you as a housewarming present.” 

“One and the same,” Rey said. 

“That was supposed to be for _you_ , you crazy person.” 

Rey sniffed and shut the fridge door. “It _is_ for me. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion. And this feels pretty special to me.” 

Finn _tsked_ , rolling his eyes and making a congenial show of it, altogether pleased. For some reason, though, it was Ben she chose to make eye contact with. Ben she chose to look at. 

Her fingers stalled on the gold wrapper of the champagne bottle, and Ben’s eyes held hers, as intense as ever. 

Even more intense, somehow. Like he was trying to figure her out, was seeing something no one else could. Something no one else had even tried to look for. 

Like he was looking and hadn’t _stopped_ looking, not even for a second. 

“Alright,” Finn said, startling Rey, making her blink. She’d almost forgotten he was there. “I’ll concede it’s special. After all, I only plan to be engaged once.” 

“Cheers,” Poe said. He gave Finn a side-armed hug. “I’ll drink to that.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  


Bubbles rise and pop in a glass Ben has no plans to drink from. 

He shifts, mason jar full of criminally cheap champagne held tightly in one hand, attempting to settle in an armchair that only just holds his frame. Across from him, in the living room that has remained largely unchanged since his childhood, sits Rey’s friends. Poe, who Ben has marked down as insufferable, and the other one. The smarter one. 

Ben hasn’t gotten his name yet, but he seems to be closer to Rey than Poe is. His eye sharper, his gaze far more wary. 

For good reason, obviously, but still. Ben doesn’t like to be scrutinized. Doesn’t like to be watched. He’s never been anything approaching normal, and the longer people watch him, the faster they tend to discover that fact. And this situation? This situation right here, with Rey? It’s so many intersecting shades of strange that _he_ can hardly begin to articulate them, even to himself. 

Instead, Ben sits, and he shifts, and he stares at the couple on the couch, trying not to give away how uncomfortable he is. How distressing Rey’s sudden—and _momentary, it’s momentary_ —absence is. 

Rey had led everyone out of the kitchen, then stopped, removed her free hand from Ben’s with a sharp cry of _“Snacks!”_ and whirled back into the kitchen, which Ben had not appreciated at all. 

_Still_ doesn’t appreciate. 

But she’d be back soon. And she was just in the other room. He doubts she’d leave him alone with her friends for long anyway, not with how high-strung neurotic she’d been about approximately everything since they’d touched. 

Since they’d touched. 

Ben shifts again. 

And Poe says, after maybe thirty seconds of silence, a long and very drawn out, _“So.”_ He has a dumb grin on his face while he does, like he’s not only taking this impromptu meeting in stride but is deeply enjoying it. “You wanna go first, or should I?” 

Ben swallows down his first reply. Also his second. From the kitchen, he tracks Rey as she quickly opens a cabinet, bangs it shut, and curses. 

He almost forgets to answer. 

Shifting at the edge of the armchair, thighs holding most of his weight like he’s ready to run, Ben says, “Please. After you.” 

“ _Excellent,”_ Poe says. “I was hoping you’d say that. We’ve been trying to get Rey to bring you by for ages now, you know. I couldn’t wait to meet you—this mythical guy who was finally a match for her. Before you, she didn’t seem to like _anyone_.” 

In the kitchen, Rey pulls something out of a cabinet and clinks it on the counter. Opens a drawer. Curses again. 

In the living room, Ben isn’t sure if Poe is expecting a response. His comments don’t seem to merit one. But Ben tilts his head and says, “I can’t say I’m mad about that.” 

“And why would you be?” Poe gestures with his champagne glass, congenial and animated, a natural storyteller. The kind of person Ben feels tired just from looking at. “Our girl is a _great_ catch. She’s really something else. Beautiful and smart, caring and kind. But I know you know that.” 

Again, Poe seems to be expecting some kind of response from him—and the other man, his fiancé, _definitely_ is—so Ben swallows, eyes flicking between the both of them, ears trained on the kitchen. “I can safely say I’ve never met another woman like her.” 

Another _woman_. 

Suspicion coils in him, niggling, and at least that part is true. 

Poe sighs, fond. “The honeymoon stage. I miss that.” 

The other man scoffs, but it’s playful. Fond, too. He nudges Poe. “We’re about to get married, you fool. Go on an _actual_ honeymoon.” 

Poe sips from his glass. He rolls his eyes and looks at Ben like they’re sharing a joke. “Oh, you know what I mean. You and Rey, you’re still at that starry-eyed stage. It’s plain to see. And it's _nice_ to see, especially after all she’s told us about you two.” He pauses, then leans forward. “Now what did she tell you about _us?”_

“About you?” Ben asks, half taken aback by Poe’s question, half stalling for time. 

“Yes. Us. Go on, tell me _everything_.” 

Ben shifts, then straightens when he senses Rey enter the room. 

_Hears_ Rey enter the room, rather. 

“Stop being such a gossip, Poe,” she says, balancing three mismatched bowls and a glass of champagne in her hands. At her presence, at her voice, he moves to stand, but Rey stalls him with an absent, “No, no, I got it.” 

With haphazard grace, she places the bowls on the coffee table and points. “Chips, pretzels, and tortilla chips. I was out of salsa, and the pretzels are probably stale, but—well, you know,” and here she shrugs, blushing, “it’s something.” 

“It is,” the other man says. “And it’s beautiful. Thank you, Peanut.” 

Rey shrugs again. “It’s not every day your best friend tells you he’s getting married.” 

“No,” the man grins. “I suppose it isn’t.” 

He turns to nudge Poe, and Ben clocks Rey moving toward the empty seat on the couch next to them, presumably to sit. 

He also clocks her stopping abruptly, nearly mid-step. 

She spins, pivoting, and looks to Ben. And looks to the second armchair that’s caddy-corner to the couch several feet away. And looks back to the men on the sofa. 

It’s a panicky, wide-eyed little dance that Ben would perhaps find funny in another scenario. Namely, one where his entire body wasn’t tensed. Where his hands weren’t threatening to shatter glass or rend the upholstery from this chair. 

The pull to her is still strong. 

Magnetic, compulsory, and wired in deep. As innate as the wolf inside him. The feeling of calmness that she’d brought lingers in his mind, in his body. But the familiar raging tumult is there as well, churning at the corner of his awareness, close and threatening, a living memory. 

Ben doesn’t know what’s happening between them, not exactly. But he does have a strong hunch. 

And it starts with who—or rather _what_ —she is. 

Because there’s only one thing she could be. Only one thing that makes sense. 

Her freckled nose wrinkles, the little liar hesitating in front of him one final time, before appearing to come to a decision about where she should sit. And it’s not on the couch. And it’s not on the other chair. 

No, she sits down right in front of him. 

Sits down, right at his feet. 

Crosses her legs and cradles her champagne glass in her hands and turns to her human friends, throwing on a smile, like all this is normal. 

It’s not. She’s not. 

Ben stares. 

At the tendon on her shoulder. At the way her heart is pulsing in her neck. She says something to the men on the couch that Ben isn’t present enough to translate, and they laugh, and she laughs, and the collar of her flannel moves, exposing another swath of smooth, fragrant skin. She’s so deep in his lungs now that he’ll never get her out. 

Not that he could even begin to try. He’s stunned. Stupid. 

She’s sitting at his feet. 

She’s sitting _at his feet_. 

She’s—talking to him. 

Or, no. No, she’s not talking to him. 

Poe is. 

“What do you think, Ben?” he asks. 

Ben attempts to blink his way out of her thrall, not sure whether he’s ever had a single thought in his entire life. 

But then Rey turns and looks up at him. She tilts her head, pleading. Rests her free hand on his knees. 

Ben blinks again, almost conscious now. “I’m sorry,” he says. “What was the question?” 

Poe smirks, like he knows the source of Ben’s distraction. How laughable. 

“Macaroni and cheese,” Poe says. “Any problems with it?” 

Ben’s brow knits in confusion before he remembers their engagement story. A story that had apparently been repeated and expanded upon in the last minute or two or however long it had been. 

Rey looks up at him with her wide, doe brown eyes, and widens them further. Like she thinks he won’t respond to a direct question. Like she thinks he’s going to answer the question wrong. 

Of its own volition, his free hand rises up her arm, comes to rest at the seam of her flannel shirt, right on her shoulder. 

“It’s fine,” Ben says to Poe. “Either way. I’m indifferent.” 

“Indifferent?” Poe asks, baffled. 

He shrugs his free shoulder, the one not touching Rey. “I don’t eat a lot of carbs as a rule.” 

“More veg, then,” Poe says, understanding. 

Ben laughs through his nose. “No, uh, meat. Chicken, steak, that kind of thing.” 

Oddly, Poe sucks in a breath. “Oof. That must be hard for y’all.” 

“Why?” 

Poe’s fiancé leans forward, frowning. “Because Rey’s a vegetarian,” he says, accusation in his tone. 

Ben opens his mouth, but Rey turns back to the couch, hand digging into Ben’s knee. “Ben knows that, Finn,” she shoots back. “I’m only a recent veg convert, anyway. Now that I can—well, you know it’s new for me, that’s all. His eating meat isn’t an issue. It doesn’t bother me.” 

Finn—the man's name is _Finn_ —sends another scrutinizing look Ben’s way before turning back to Rey, expression softening. “I know,” he says. “We’re only asking because we were thinking of serving macaroni and cheese at the wedding.” 

“Nicer stuff,” Poe says immediately. “Like, with actual cheese. Maybe even four or five different kinds. None of the processed garbage, don’t worry.” 

“Hey, I like processed garbage,” Rey says. “Don’t knock it.” She tilts her head and settles her back against Ben’s knees. The movement is so casual, so natural, there’s no way she’s aware of it. “But I also like that idea, just in general. Serving it at the wedding. It’s sweet.” 

“I thought so,” Finn says. 

Poe looks at Ben. “Yeah, and if you don’t like it, we can be sure to have a substitution or alternative on hand for you. With Rey being veg, I thought there was a chance you might be vegan or dairy-free or something.” 

Ben chokes on a laugh. Rey stiffens at his feet. “No,” he says. “No, I’m not a vegan.” It’s almost too ridiculous to articulate. 

Rey squirms. “Isn’t this—I don’t know—a little far off to be planning for? I mean, it’s not like you’re getting married tomorrow.” 

“No,” Finn says slowly. “We’re not getting married tomorrow.” 

Poe grips Finn’s hand, becoming visibly more excited. “We were thinking more like next week.” 

Rey stops breathing. 

He can hear it, feel it through her spine, almost in his own lungs. 

Finn looks at her and starts speaking very quickly. “That’s one of the reasons we drove over here. We stayed up all night talking and realized we wanted to be married. _Married_ , not engaged.” 

“Exactly,” Poe says. “Why wait?” 

“But—” Rey sputters. “Next _week?”_

“I know,” Finn says. “That’s what we wanted, but it’s not enough time, is it? Not for y’all and Rose and Kaydel to take off of work, and for us to figure out all the lowkey arrangements we want, anyway. So we were hoping to do it more like two weeks from now instead. We’ve already missed the leaves as of this weekend, so there’s not as much of a rush.” 

“The leaves,” Rey repeats, sounding dazed. 

“Yeah. We were planning to get married on the Blue Ridge, up near the house outside of Asheville Poe’s parents left him. Just a small little thing on the mountain with a few close friends and family members.” 

“You’ll come, won’t you?” Poe asks. “Both of you?” 

“I—I don’t know,” Rey says. But when both men’s faces start to fall, she charges ahead rapidly. “I mean, of course I’ll be there. Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.” Her hand tightens on Ben’s legs, and he covers it with the hand that was gripping her shoulder. “But you want Be—both of us?” 

“Yeah,” Finn says. And his smell, his level heartbeat—it’s all genuine. He means it. 

“It’s a day for love, and we want to share with the people who love us and those closest to them. So, yeah, of course we want you both to be there,” Poe says. “We want to share this with you.” 

“I’ll be there.” Slowly, Rey turns up to Ben. “Do you think you can get away from work?” she asks. The _please say no_ is visible in her eyes. 

He stiffens, hand on the back of her smooth palm. 

Asheville is hours away. 

Ben thinks of Rey gone. Alone. For days on end. 

And for some reason, despite the skin to skin contact, he doesn’t feel calm at all. 

“Yes,” he says. “I’ll be there.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  


Rey waved at Finn and Poe as they backed out of her gravel driveway. 

The second they disappeared down the road, blending into the trees, she dropped her hand, feeling as saggy and deflated as a week-old balloon. Shoulders limp, she scanned her yard, absently noting the two large limbs—one dead, the other decidedly not—left in the middle of her lawn. 

It felt like weeks had passed since earlier that morning. 

Like entire continents had shifted, eternities lapsed. She was tired. 

But she wasn’t done. 

Behind her, Ben closed the front door. 

“Okay, look, Ben, I’m not _mad_ , but did you really have to—” 

“What does the name Palpatine mean to you?” 

Rey stopped short. She whirled to face Ben, who was looking down at her with a severe expression. 

“Palpatine?” she asked slowly, pronouncing each unfamiliar syllable. 

Ben nodded once. 

Her brow pinched. “... Nothing?” she said, bewildered. 

Ben sniffed. Like, actually took a breath in through his nose, like he was trying to suss her out, to _smell_ the lie. 

God, this man she’d attached herself to. This _mess_ she’d gotten herself into. 

“Nothing?” Ben asked, stepping closer. “Sheev. Sheev Palpatine. You don’t know him?” 

“Should I?” Rey asked, very confused as to why this, of all things, was the first question he'd asked. Maybe she'd missed something in all the panic-inducing chaos. 

Ben's eyes searched her face. “He’s not a relative? A great uncle or a distant cousin or—something else?” 

Rey’s breath hitched in that way it sometimes did, stomach panging with a phantom hunger. Empty, like loss. 

“I don’t see how that’s your business,” she snapped before she could stop herself. But then her hand curled into a fist, and she remembered the last couple of hours, and how maybe some of it _was_ his business now. Now that they were both trapped, stuck walking this horrible path she’d made for herself all those months ago. 

“I...” she said and crossed her arms. She turned back out to the yard. “I guess, if you’re actually coming to the wedding, this would be something you’d need to know.” 

Ben stepped closer. “Yes. I told you—and them—that I’d be there, so I will.” He paused. “I know you’d rather be rid of me, but it was the only response I could give at the time.” 

Rey very much didn't agree with that assessment, but what was she going to do now? Break up with her fake boyfriend two weeks before her best friend's wedding? Throw all the attention on herself? Run away from everything and everyone and never once look back? 

No. 

No, she could never do that. 

Rey rolled her jaw. She hated this next part. But it was best to just get it out there, to say it quick. 

“I’m an orphan,” she said. “I don’t know who my parents are. They—they left me when I was young.” 

Her eyes dropped to the railing. She was gripping it, bracing herself on it, and Ben’s hand reached out, his thumb grazing over hers. His touch was so light, so natural, that she felt, oddly, like she might cry.

“Yes,” he said, staring down at their fingers. “That does make sense.” 

Rey snatched her hand back like an airbag deploying. Shock. Whiplash. A punch to her gut. 

“What did you just say to me?” she asked. She could hardly hear herself say it. 

Ben stilled, looking first to her hand, then to her face. He seemed paler. Like even he knew what he’d said was cruel. Callous and wrong. 

That it—that it _made sense_ that she was an orphan.

Rey was so still she was vibrating. 

“Thank you,” she gritted out. “For _agreeing_ to go to this wedding with me. For _playing_ along.” Her muscles were locking up. Her eyes were burning. “We can discuss the details later, but right now, you need to go.” 

Ben retracted his hand from where it had been hanging, outstretched and hovering. He looked down, just to the left of her feet. “I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“I don’t—I don’t care. I’m tired, Ben. Please go. We can talk about this later.” 

Her tone brooked no argument, and for once, he didn’t give one. He nodded, a slow dip of his chin, shoulders hunching. 

And then, as suddenly as he’d arrived that morning, he left. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooooo this _might_ end up being more than 6 chapters, I'm sure you're all surprised
> 
> (come say hi on [twitter](https://twitter.com/AllFrak) if you want!)


	4. 🖕 this is rey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Where have you been?”
> 
> An electric shock. 
> 
> That was the only way Rey could think to describe it. An electric shock. Energy. A _zing_ of—something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is this update timely? no. are we sticking to my outline? also no. but it's a minor miracle that this chapter exists at all given everything so i for one am giving thanks

Rey felt like shit. 

For days, she felt like shit. 

Physically. Bodily. Her stomach churned, and her muscles ached, and it was all deeply and incredibly pathetic, actually. 

How sick she felt made her feel even sicker with herself. What right did she have to feel bad? To wallow? She’d done this to herself. 

But even though she knew that, she couldn’t manage to break free from this pitiful imploding cycle she’d found herself trapped in. It was a loop of her shitty thoughts and her shitty feelings and her down-to-her-bones shitty fucking self. 

It was like a hangover, the way her entire body sagged. Throbbed. 

Except it also wasn’t quite a hangover, was it? Because hangovers went away. 

You drank water, you slept in late, and eventually, you felt normal. Good as new. Just like your old self again. 

_I’m an orphan._

_I don’t know who my parents are._

_They left me when I was young._

The days compounded. 

There was work and frequent wedding-related texts, and she mainlined podcasts every second that she was awake, and then it was a week after that godawful exchange on her porch, and she still felt like shit. Only worse, somehow. Drained further as the days wore on. 

Time usually provided her a dull sort of kindness. Numbed her, helped her to forget. But time was doing _fuckall_ for her right now. 

Her lie was a living, breathing thing in her body, the gravity of the impending wedding pressing on her further with every hour she slipped closer to it, with every plan she made. Every plan she didn’t. 

It was easy to lie when you didn’t have to think about it. When you didn’t have to live the consequences of it. 

“What do you think?” Finn asked, holding up a navy blue floral tie in one hand, and an identical navy blue floral bow tie in the other. 

They were scrounging through the Bloomingdale’s clearance section, their second day in Atlanta, checking off as many last-minute wedding boxes as they could. Even lowkey elopements cost money, and Lenox mall was the place to spend it. 

And if this long-weekend trip to the city was technically a little overboard for their to-do list? Well, Finn more than deserved a little overboard. He deserved to feel special. 

He’d mentioned wanting to go to Atlanta, so of course she’d said yes. 

But that didn’t mean she was going to say yes to everything. 

“I think this may be rock bottom,” Rey told him, shifting the shopping bag nestled in the crook of her arm and shaking her head slowly. “I think you’ve never worn a bow tie in your life.” 

“I—” Finn frowned down at the blue strips of fabric in his hands. He didn’t bother correcting her, because she was right. “Yes, but... would _Poe_ like it?” 

Rey scrubbed a weary hand over her face. “Poe likes _you_. He’s going to like anything you want to wear. _Want_ being the operative word here, Peanut.” 

Finn’s face crumpled a little. His fingers curled, bunching up the ties. He nodded. 

The stress of the rushed wedding was clearly eating at him, just like the stress of her lie was eating at her. She could see that. Could feel that. 

But for now, maybe they just needed to eat. 

“Wanna grab lunch?” 

Finn looked down at the scrunched bow tie in his grip, grimacing as he actually _saw_ it, then tossed both items back on the table with the rest of the rummaged-through summer sale items. “Yeah, maybe that’s for the best.” 

Understatement, and they both knew it. Food should have happened over an hour ago. 

They didn’t exactly have _much_ to buy here for the kind of slapdash wedding the boys were planning, but there were a lot of stores and even more choices. When Rey shopped, she found something that fit her budget and her body and looked halfway sort of decent, and then she got it. Finn usually matched her motives. Or at least wasn’t that far off. 

But this weekend, he’d wanted to see _everything_. Make sure he got it right. 

“Am I going to make it, Rey? Tell me the truth.” 

Finn’s eyes were comically large as he stared at her, but Rey didn’t feel the urge to laugh. He looked as overwhelmed as she felt—only he, unlike her, had a good reason for feeling that way. 

Rey cut the distance between them. 

She cupped Finn’s face in her hands and looked him dead in the eye. “You are going to make it.” He swallowed. Her fingers dug into his cheeks. “You are going to make it, and get married, and be so stupidly, incredibly, _disgustingly_ happy that it makes me want to simultaneously puke and jump up and down whenever I think about it.” She tilted her chin and raised both her brows. “Okay?” 

Finn’s worried look melted into a soft, fond smile. “Okay.” 

Rey nodded, businesslike, then patted him hard on the cheek. “Good. Now let’s eat.” 

California Pizza Kitchen wasn’t far. 

They trudged through the thick Saturday crowd, going slow, with the flow of clustered traffic instead of zig-zagging around it like they normally might. Rey because she was actively fighting to pick her feet up, Finn because he kept sneaking glances down at his phone. 

They got in line, inching closer to the hostess. Finn’s eyes flicked down again. 

Rey’s did, too. 

_i miss you_

The three little dots that cropped up under Poe’s message seemed to fill the entire screen. 

Rey and Finn had only been gone for two days, and barely that, staying in the spare room of a high school friend of Finn’s that lived in South Atlanta, but in that time, Finn had already called Poe at least twice that she knew about. 

And yet it seemed like it wasn’t enough. For Finn. For Poe. 

_I miss you._

_I miss you._

Rey sighed, chest hollowing, then pushed the feeling down. 

“Go ahead and call him,” she said. 

Finn jumped up, looking at her. Reflexively, he pressed his phone screen into his chest. “You snoop.” 

“ _You_ lovesick fool.” 

Finn made a face, dramatic and put upon and pleased. But then he also made to shove his phone in his pocket, so Rey nudged him with her elbow. “Don’t put it up. Call him.” 

“Rey.” 

“ _Finn_.” 

“We’re about to have lunch.” 

She huffed, glaring at him. “Just do a quick check-in, you stubborn little nugget. You haven’t talked to him all day.” 

“We’re hanging out,” Finn said, rolling his eyes. “And besides, you haven’t talked to Ben either.” 

Rey jerked slightly. 

Finn had said Ben’s name like he was determined to like the guy, just as earlier—back when her life had made far, far more sense—he’d been determined to hate him. 

God. 

What had she done to deserve such a good friend? 

Guilt roiled in Rey’s stomach, surging upward with enough force that it made her wince. Inconvenient. Unwelcome. She had to cover the slip of feeling with an exaggeratedly pulled face. 

“Ben isn’t my _fiancé_ , Finn. It’s not the same thing at all.” 

“Hm,” Finn sniffed. Then, with the air of someone making a great sacrifice, he inclined his head. “I can talk to Poe after we eat.” 

Rey shoved him out of line with both hands, then batted him with her oversized shopping bag—the dress she’d bought for the wedding after maybe half a minute of looking inside. “Do it now. I’m going to tell the hostess the bar is fine, because I’m starving, but there’s also clearly a wait. No sense in putting it off til later. Call him. I’ll see you in a bit.” 

Finn frowned at her but wavered. 

Rey huffed again, flapping her arms. “And if there’s any downtime, maybe— _maybe—_ I’ll make a phone call or two of my own.” 

Lie. 

Lie. 

Hesitantly, Finn took a step backward. “If you’re sure.” 

“Shoo.” 

He pointed. “I’ll just be over there.” 

“Bye.” 

“I won’t be long.” 

Rey turned her back to him and flung her hand in the air. “Talk to you, Peanut!” 

The woman standing in front of Rey laughed softly as Finn walked over to a free spot on the wall, phone already pressed to his ear. 

Still chuckling, the woman turned, looking over her shoulder. She was older, maybe late fifties, with thickly teased blonde hair and faded rosey red lipstick. “Y’all are cute, bickering on like that.” Her lips spread in a wide, genuine smile. “You remind me of my little ones.” 

Rey froze. 

The woman shuffled what must have been half a dozen bags in her arms. “Of course, they’re not so little now, my babies. They’re at least your age.” The woman looked closer at Rey, eyes scanning, perceptive. “Yes, at least your age,” she said, nodding to herself. 

Rey squirmed, feeling deeply, exceedingly uncomfortable. 

She averted her eyes and let out an awkward laugh. “You’ll have to excuse us. He’s getting married. He’s very stressed.” 

The woman clucked sympathetically. “Well, weddings are very stressful.” 

“Yeah,” Rey sighed. “We’re gathering that.” 

The woman nodded congenially, but her lips pursed. The line drudged forward. 

The woman—mother— _stranger_ didn’t move. Didn’t turn around. 

Instead, she stared at Rey, head tilting, tone softening. _Looking._ “You doin’ okay there, honey?” 

What? 

“Me?” Rey asked, feeling a frisson of shock. Perhaps panic. 

Again, the woman nodded. “Weddings are stressful for everyone. You takin’ time for yourself?” 

Rey had no idea what to do. Absolutely no idea. Oddly, she felt like crying, so she ripped her gaze away. 

“I’m fine,” she said, and not very nicely either. But what else was she supposed to say? 

Nothing. Not a single thing. 

Head ducked down, Rey pulled out her own phone, and clicked around on it like a coward until she reached the hostess stand. 

A short while later, as she sagged at the bar and nursed a cup of black coffee that tasted like it’d been sitting on the burner for the entire day, her phone was still out. Her body still felt like absolute shit. While she waited for Finn, she checked the news, replied to work emails, texted Rose and Kaydel. 

She did not call Ben. 

Didn’t contemplate doing it, not for a single, solitary second. 

Why would she? 

She didn’t even have his number. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


“Where have you been?” 

An electric shock. 

That was the only way Rey could think to describe it. An electric shock. Energy. A _zing_ of—something. 

Rey jolted. Frowned. 

That _fucking_ tone. 

With an extraordinary degree of effort, she continued on as normal, gathering her overnight bag from the trunk of her car, movements steady and head bent down. It was Sunday. She’d only just gotten back. She hadn’t even had a second to _breathe_. 

“You’ve been gone for days.” 

It was an accusation, the way he said it. Snarled it, almost. Like he had any right to know. 

_I’m an orphan. I don’t know who my parents are. They left me when I was young._

_Yes. That does make sense._

Chest expanding, Rey swung her bag over her shoulder, took a short, steady step backward, and shut the trunk. Harder than was strictly necessary, sure, but some things couldn’t be helped. 

“I don’t see how where I’ve been is any of your business,” she said quietly, evenly, hands still resting on her car's cold, hard surface. 

She could _feel_ Ben’s glare. He was stewing behind her, hovering behind her. She didn’t know how she knew, but she did. 

Then she turned around and confirmed it. 

He was close. His jaw was tight, and his body was rigid, and he looked as big as ever. As pale as ever. Paler, almost white. Skin drawn, a little sunken, like he was sick, and had been sick for a while. 

But his eyes were burning. Narrowed. Like all the sparking life of him had crawled up and into his eyes, a fuzzy beam of light honed through a magnifying glass. He was focused entirely on her. 

Warmth flared in her neck. Her face. 

Ben’s nostrils flared as he took a deep, indrawn breath through his nose—the kind you took when you were reaching, counting, desperately grasping—and then he held that breath, just looking at her. 

Steadily, Rey raised her chin. 

Her giant of a neighbor opened his mouth. 

Then he closed his mouth. 

Then he opened his mouth one more time. A short puff of air passed his lips. “Your chicken got out again,” he said. 

Rey blinked. “What?” 

“You heard me.” 

She had. She had heard him. 

Her chest tightened, spasming. She grabbed the strap of her overnight bag with one hand. “Did she—BB—is she okay?” 

Ben looked at her for a long moment before dipping his head in his version of a nod, eyes still narrowed. Angry. “I put her back.” 

Rey sagged in relief. “I didn’t—I didn’t just leave them, you know. Poe was supposed to come over and check on them all.” 

“He did,” Ben said. His head tilted, lips thinning. “He also knocked on my door wanting to... _chat_ about the wedding.” 

Rey’s stomach dropped. 

She stared at him in horror. “He didn’t.” 

“He did.” 

“I told him not to bother you. That you were busy with work. That you might have needed to go out of town.” 

“He stayed on my porch for almost half an hour,” Ben growled. 

Jesus. God. 

Rey’s overnight bag fell to the ground. Her breath came out in short, heavy puffs. “What did you tell him?” 

“I didn’t tell him much of anything. He, on the other hand, wouldn’t shut up.” Rey closed her eyes. “He seems to like the sound of his own voice.” Fuck. “He also seems to think we’re going to be—quote— _very good friends._ ” 

Rey opened her eyes. Opened her mouth. No sound came out. 

Poe had promised. He’d _promised_. 

She should have known better. 

Ben glared down at her. “You went to Atlanta?” 

Rey nodded. 

“You’ve been avoiding me?” 

He’d knocked on her door once on Wednesday. Twice on Thursday. 

Again, Rey nodded. But she didn’t feel bad about it. 

No, she just felt— _everything_. Too much. She didn’t know what she was feeling. 

Her jaw tightened, molars pressing together hard enough to hurt. “I didn’t—I _don’t_ —want to talk to you right now.” 

Ben crossed his arms over his chest, fingers digging into biceps nearly the size of her thighs. He was for once wearing a short-sleeved shirt. 

He scowled. “You don’t get to ignore me.” 

“And you don’t get to say shit like that to me!” she burst out. 

“Like what?” he scoffed. “That you don’t get to ignore me when I’m trying to help you? You _don’t_.” 

“You know what I mean,” she whispered fiercely. “You know I’m talking about last week. About what you said. You’re not that much of an idiot.” 

Ben’s nostrils flared. 

His eyes combed her face, jaw clenched. He didn’t try to defend himself or explain. Instead, in a low voice, like he was surprised, almost... confused, Ben muttered, “You’re still infuriating.” 

Rey blinked. “Still?”she asked, disbelieving. 

No answer. 

_“Still?”_

Ben didn’t say a word. 

“Well, you’re still a jackass!” she spat. She was tense. Quivering. 

Ben stood up straighter, lifting his chin so he could look down his nose at her. “So you _don’t_ want me to go to the wedding, then?” 

Rey sucked her teeth and jerked her gaze away from him, fighting off a scowl. Her eyes fell to the ground, then flew up to the sky. 

Above the gently swaying pine trees, the sky was purpling, orange, and pink. The moon was already out, somewhere between halfway and full, winking down at her. 

The days were growing shorter. The nights were growing longer. Colder. And Ben’s threat was all too clear. 

“I didn’t say that,” Rey said gently, careful to keep her tone low and placating. 

For all of two seconds, at least. 

Because fuck that, actually. As soon as she’d gotten the words out, she knew she wouldn’t be able to go any further down this route, despite what she’d said before and tried to convince herself of. It wasn’t who she was. She wouldn’t— _couldn’t_ —be bullied into playing nice for him. Docile and sweet. Not for anyone. Not even for Finn. 

She wished that weren’t the case, but she wished for lots of things that would never be true. 

Her eyes flicked back to Ben, and her voice grew short. Rough. “Why did you agree to go?” 

“Are you trying to get me to not?” 

“No.” Her body was taut. “But you clearly can’t stand me.” Ben opened his mouth, and she held out a hand. “Trust me, the feeling’s mutual. But I’m stuck now. I made this bed. I told this lie. You didn’t.” She crossed her arms. “Going to the wedding—what’s in it for you?” 

Ben crossed his arms too, and drew in a deep, deep exaggeratedly large breath, like he was sucking in patience, perhaps stalling for time. There was a flushed pink color in his cheeks. “You wouldn’t understand.” 

“Try me.” 

Ben grumped out a disbelieving sound. “You wouldn’t.” 

“I’m not—” Rey almost growled. “I’m not stupid. You don’t like me. You’re not doing this just for fun. What is it? What do you think you’re going to get out of this?” 

Ben stared, glowering. 

Rey threw her hands in the air. “Fine. Maybe I _am_ stupid. This is clearly not going to work.” She shook her head. “It’s a week out from the wedding. I’m calling Finn. I’m going to tell him we broke up.” 

With a harsh yank, she picked her bag up from the gravel driveway, swung it over her shoulders, then spun on her foot. 

“Wait!” Ben called. 

Rey didn’t. 

“Wait!” 

Not a chance. 

“Damn it, Rey, please!” 

And then she did. 

Slowly, reluctantly, but she did. 

_“What?”_ she snarled, when Ben remained silent. 

His eyes darted sideways. Up and slightly to the left. He shifted. Looked shifty. “My father,” he began, and there was a hesitancy to that word in his mouth, as if he wasn’t fond of or familiar with its shape. “My father...” Ben stalled again, running his hand through his hair, pulling, tugging. “He liked you.” 

Rey blinked. Swallowed. It made her feel something, to think Han had talked about her to Ben. 

But she didn’t have room for that something right now. 

She looked at Ben and nodded. “And I liked him.” 

Ben crossed his arms. “That’s why.” 

“Because of Han?” 

Ben looked just over her shoulder. “Because he’d do it for you. And I’m doing this for him.” 

At first, Rey didn’t think she’d heard him right. “You’re doing this for _Han?”_

“Yes.” 

“And you—you thought I wouldn’t understand that?” Rey asked, slow and incredulous. The world quiet and her heart beating fast enough to hurt. “You thought, because I don’t have parents, that I wouldn’t understand doing something for someone you loved?” 

Something flickered across Ben’s face. He had the decency to look at least a little upset. “No. I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“Then how’d you mean it?” 

“Like—” 

Silence. 

Like nothing. Not a thing. Ben stopped talking, quiet. Fuck her for hoping for more. 

Rey made to turn back around. 

A loud, frustrated sound ripped from Ben’s throat. He flung his arm out to the side. “Look, you’re right, okay? You’re right. I _am_ a jackass. You’re also right about everything you’ve implied since we’ve met. Han and I didn’t have a good relationship. We weren’t ever a Hallmark movie father and son. I could—” Ben swallowed, furious, face contorting— “I could never be what he wanted me to be.” 

Rey felt her sternum rising, falling. When the silence swarmed once more, she asked, “And what did he want?” 

“Normalcy,” Ben said after a long moment. “He wanted me to be normal.” 

Ben _wasn’t_ normal. Ben was big and angry and loud and rude and terrible. Fucking terrible. 

All of that was true. So plain and apparent for anyone to see. And Rey had certainly been looking. 

She felt something awful stir in her chest. 

“And you’re not,” she heard herself say. Heard herself say, not unkindly, but like she understood. A part of her thought she just might. 

“I’m not,” Ben agreed, looking at her. Again, like he saw her. Like he didn’t want to be seen. “But I did love my father, despite what you or anyone else may think. And I don’t know,” he said harshly, probably mad about being caught in something close to an emotion that wasn’t blind spitting, anger. “I don’t—I don’t like the idea of you going to North Carolina alone, okay? Not when you don’t have to.” 

It was like the words were specially designed to flay her open. Her heart was pounding, and her eyes were blinking rapidly. 

“I can do it alone.” She lifted her chin. 

“Yes,” Ben said. “I know. But you don’t have to.” 

Her breath shuddered out of her. 

“If—” The next breath came more easily. She stood up straighter. “If we do this—” _You could ruin everything. I’d have to trust you. “—_ you can’t hold compliance over my head while we’re there to get me to do whatever you want.” 

“I wouldn’t.” 

“You already did.” 

“What are you talking about? I wouldn’t.” 

“You did. Earlier. You held the wedding over me to get me to be nice to you.” 

Ben goggled at her. “Aren’t we supposed to be—you know?” 

“What?” 

_“You know.”_

“I don’t.” 

Ben stalled, shifting. “ _Dating_.” He said it like it was a dirty word. 

Rey pressed her lips together. “So?”  


“So isn’t common courtesy a part of dating? Being nice to each other?” 

“Ha,” Rey laughed in a short burst. “Like you’ve been nice to _me_?” 

“You’re the one that started this mess. I expected you to lead by example.” 

“Well, you know what they say about assumptions.” 

“ _Well_ , if we’re in a relationship, we have to play nice, don’t we?” 

“I don’t know, do we?” 

“I don’t know either!” Ben shouted. 

They stared at each other, breathing hard. 

Ben’s nose flared like a bull’s. His face was flushed. He looked like he wanted to shake her dead. 

On Rey’s part, it took all of her willpower not to stalk over to Ben and grab him by his broad, stupidly large shoulders, and fling him to the ground. 

Neither of them moved. 

Eventually, Rey’s chest evened out. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. Her hands were still shaking. “My friends knew we started out fighting. If we argue on the trip, I’ll just tell them it’s a thing we do.” 

“Oh, we’re going to argue,” Ben promised lowly, staring at her. A muscle was throbbing in his jaw. 

Rey’s lips pressed together, heat flooding her, heart working overtime. “Say whatever you want to to me, but if you do a single thing to Finn that takes him away from this weekend, I will burn down your fucking house.” 

Ben’s eyes flashed. He glared. 

But he didn’t look surprised or like he doubted what she was telling him. He shouldn’t. She wasn’t kidding. 

His head dipped in a nod. 

Fuck. 

Okay, good. 

Rey stood up straighter, her ears pounding. 

“We have to leave on Wednesday after work.” 

“Fine.” 

“We’ll come back early Sunday.” 

“Fine.” 

“We’re taking my car.” 

Ben scowled. “No.” 

“Yes,” Rey said. “I’m bringing you, so I’m driving.” 

His eyes flew to her small white Honda, and a contemptuous expression crossed his face. “In _that_?” 

“Yep,” she said. Her car was old, but it was _reliable_ , thank you. “This isn’t negotiable.” 

Ben closed his eyes and took a deep, ridiculous, and frankly insulting breath before opening them. “Fine.” 

It didn’t sound fine, but Rey was picking her battles. She pulled out her phone from her back pocket and drew her tongue over her teeth. “What’s your cell phone number?” she asked. 

“I don’t have one.” 

Rey felt like she’d staggered forward despite standing still. What the fuck? 

“You’re kidding.” 

“Yes,” Ben answered easily. 

Rey almost choked. 

Ben’s expression was so utterly blank she had no idea if she’d heard him right. “You’re—you’re fucking with me? That was a joke?” 

“I’m very funny,” Ben answered seriously, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “You should know that about me, since we’re dating and all.” 

She took a step forward. 

She was, wasn’t she? She was going to kill him. She was going to wring his neck. 

“Seven,” Ben said slowly, looking not the least bit concerned as she stalked closer toward him with wild, unhinged emotion burning out of her eyes. “Six.” 

Rey stopped, blinking. “Are you counting down?” 

“Two.” 

Not counting down, then. 

“Nine.” 

His phone number. 

“Five.” 

_Shit_. 

“Four—” 

Rey’s thumb flew across her phone screen while Ben calmly enunciated the rest of his ten-digit number. 

When she rattled it back off to him to check to see if she’d gotten it right, he’d just raised a single eyebrow in answer. So maybe— _maybe—_ when she texted him so that he’d have her number, she sent him the middle finger emoji next to an all-lowercase _this is rey_. 

Maybe. 

Maybe. 

God, she was batshit insane. 

“So we’re doing this?” she asked, just to be sure. 

Ben threw his shoulders back, curling up his lip, like he was daring her to doubt him and looking like he wanted to snarl at her all the same. “Yes.” 

“‘Kay,” she said, and nodded at him firmly. “See you Wednesday, then.” 

She turned, and if it made her smile to hear Ben sputter, she would never openly admit it. 

“That’s _it_?” he asked. “See you on Wednesday?” 

She paused, looking over her shoulder. “What else were you expecting?” 

“A conversation?” 

“What do you call this?” 

“A fight.” 

Rey huffed. “The drive up is three hours. I’ll text you what you need to bring, but beyond that, we can talk in the car.” 

Ben looked like he’d swallowed something rotten. His entire face pursed up. “Fine,” he said, as harshly as he had yet, then he stuck out his arm. 

Rey didn’t move. 

Head tilting, chin jutting, she stayed planted where she stood. “Are you trying to shake my hand?” 

Ben’s hand didn’t waver. Neither did his piercing, eerily direct eye contact. “Yes.” 

His fingers were curved and slightly parted. They hovered in the air without moving even a fraction of an inch. It was unnerving. 

But it’s not like Rey was one to back down from a challenge. 

She walked forward, brows knitted and head held high, and when she grasped his hand, there was that electricity again. Surging. Consuming. She felt more energy than she had in _days._

Her knees nearly buckled with it. 

Nearly, but they didn’t. And she didn’t let even a flash of that powerful, jolting energy show on her face. 

Calmly, professionally, they shook on it. 

“See you soon, Solo.” 

Ben grunted, strong fingers warm and tensing around her own for a long stretch of a moment before he wrenched his hand away with an insulting, dizzying yank. 

He staggered back slightly, face once again somewhere between rude and carefully blank. 

A minute later, as Rey unlocked her front door, feeling like she’d run miles in the last fifteen minutes instead of walking perhaps twenty feet, Ben’s parting word rang around inside of her. 

“Wednesday,” he’d said to her, looking her directly in the eye. 

It had sounded like a promise. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whatever _is_ ben thinking?
> 
> til next time & stay tuned


End file.
